


One-on-One

by DarcyDelaney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, Enemies(ish) to lovers, F/M, Homophobia (language and actions), Light Bondage, M/M, Minor violence/fighting, People swear a lot, happy ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 20:37:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney/pseuds/DarcyDelaney
Summary: Dean Winchester had people talking the minute he showed up on Lisa Braeden’s season of The Bachelorette as the franchise’s first openly bisexual contestant. Cas Novak had been thrilled when he first heard about—and set eyes on—the charming young teacher from Kansas, but by the end of Lisa’s season, he couldn’t blame her for choosing Michael over Dean. Over the course of the show, something about Dean had struck Cas as smug, self-absorbed, fake. He wasn’t surprised, then, when Dean ended up being all of the above when Cas and his friends had the chance to interview him for their Bachelor-themed podcast, "Rose-Colored Glasses." What does throw him for a loop, though, is when Dean leaves him his number, follows him on Instagram, and asks him on a date. Even more unexpected is the fact that eventually, Cas starts to realize that he actually doesn’t really mind spending time with Dean. At all. And that maybe, just maybe, he’s glad Lisa didn’t choose Dean for entirely selfish reasons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello hello! I'm so excited to finally be able to share this, and hope you guys enjoy it! First off, a couple of thanks to people who, without their ridiculous talents, this fic would not be a thing. Like, at all.
> 
>   * The incredible [Maiglöckchen](https://convallariini.tumblr.com/), who created art for this story that IS SO GODDAMN DELIGHTFUL I WILL NEVER BE OVER IT. I don't know what I did to deserve the opportunity to work with you, but I'm so lucky to have been able to do so, and I'm so excited everyone else finally gets to see your fabulous work! Thank you! <3 Her art is embedded throughout the fic (including the epilogue), and please check out her [masterpost](https://convallariini.tumblr.com/post/179192819819/illustrations-for-one-on-one-by-the-lovely) and leave her all the love!
>   * The amazing [edgarallanrose](http://edgarallanrose.tumblr.com/) beta'ed the shit out of my fic (literally, you guys don't want to see what it looked like before she helped me with it). She had a million things on her plate, and still made time to read through everything (some scenes multiple times), leave comments and reassurances, and just generally be wonderful. Thank you! <3
>   * The lovely Jojo and Muse, who, thanks to their A+ modding skills, ran yet another year of DCBB that was supportive, clear, and most importantly, a freakin' blast. Thank you! <3
> 

> 
> Oh, and if anyone is ever looking for someone to talk Bachelor with, I am 110% available. Every time.

**_The Bachelorette: Season 29 Finale_ **

 

Dean won’t look at the camera.

It’s his last confessional-style interview before his proposal to Lisa, and all traces of the suave, confident persona he’d inhabited during the entire season of The Bachelorette seem to have disappeared, replaced with the equivalent of an inexperienced middle schooler. He sucks in a breath through his nose and releases it in a quick sigh, then finally looks up with a nervous smile.

_“Am I nervous?” Dean repeats the question and chuckles. “Nah. ‘m just asking her out on a date...a date that’ll last the rest of our lives.” He hesitates, then breathes out a quick, “[Bleep]” before running a hand through his carefully styled hair. He startles suddenly as someone off-camera approaches him._

_“What?” His eyes travel up to his hairline and he looks back at the person off-camera, unamused. “Oh, come on, it doesn’t look any different—Tessa, come_ on _—” He swipes away a perfectly manicured hand reaching for his hair and glares. “It's fine,” he says, then glances back at the camera. “It's fine.”_

_It’s unclear if he’s trying to convince himself of the same thing when it comes to Lisa._

 

Dean fiddles with the small black box in his hands as the limo drives him to where Lisa’s waiting. He and Michael have had their final dates, their last chances to convince Lisa that they’re the one for her. Now it’s time for her to make her decision, and Dean’s working hard not to puke.

After a few seconds, he pockets the box and leans forward toward the driver, resting his forearms on each of the front seats. There are a handful of GoPros suctioned to the inside of the windshield, still recording his every move, the producers hoping for some kind of last-minute meltdown they can use for b-roll later. He tries his best to ignore them.

“I'm guessing you can't tell me whether you've already driven Michael out here, huh?” he asks. It's common knowledge in the  _Bachelor_  franchise that whoever gets driven to the final rose ceremony first is a fucking goner, so he had been hoping for some kind of a hint as to his fate. Sure enough, though, the driver shakes his head.

“No idea,” he says gruffly. “I ain’t his driver.”

Dean mouths a profanity before slumping back against the leather seats. “Of course not,” he mutters. He takes out the box again and flicks it open, looking down at the diamond ring he'd chosen for Lisa. It’s overkill, in his opinion, a gleaming cluster of diamonds that looks like it’d be heavy enough to break a finger, but it’d been the simplest one Garth Fitzgerald, the show’s jeweler, had to offer.

Dean studies the ring for a few more seconds before snapping the box shut, stuffing it back into his pocket, and leaning forward again. “So, you done this long?”

A few minutes later, the car pulls into a circular driveway and stops in front of a mansion’s solid oak doors. A thin layer of snow coats the ground, and it's unclear if it’s natural or something created by the set designers for a special kind of romantic ambiance.

Dean claps the driver on the shoulder and grins wryly. “Thanks, man. Hope your brewery gets off the ground soon.”

The driver huffs out a laugh and shakes Dean’s hand over the seats. “Good luck.”

Chuck Shurley, the show’s host since its inception nearly thirty seasons ago, is waiting for Dean in the main foyer of the building, and Dean grins at him when he enters.

“Dean,” Chuck says, holding his arms out for a hug. Dean only pauses for a second; no matter how much he dislikes them, he’s finally gotten used to hugs as the default way of greeting on the show.

“How’s it going, Chuck.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?” Chuck grins mischievously, and Dean unconsciously taps his pocket with the ring again.

“Ask me again in five minutes,” he says, and steps forward through the arched doorway and into the living room.

Lisa is standing in the middle of the room wearing a maroon sheath dress, studying all the books in the shelves lining the walls, and looks up at the sound of Dean’s shoes tapping against the freshly polished floor. She beams at him and laughs when he whistles.

“Shut up,” she chuckles, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a long, slow kiss. He rests his hands on her hips and grins before tilting her back to deepen the kiss.

“Missed you,” he says.

“It’s been four hours, Dean.”

He shrugs. “Statement still stands.”

She laughs, and Dean is entranced by the way the moon shining in through the window catches on her hair, her smile, her skin. It makes her eyes sparkle, and he can’t look away. He takes another step forward and grabs her hands in his own, squeezing them gently.

“So,” she says, voice slightly anxious. “How does this go?”

“I don’t really think there’s a rulebook.” He takes a breath and shifts uncomfortably after catching a glimpse of the cameraman trying to be discreet in the corner of the room. He’d never been one for public proposals, never thought he’d get far enough in the goddamn show to actually be faced with having to  _give_ one, but here he fucking is. He swallows and clears his throat, glancing down at his shoes.

“I guess I’ll just wing it. Lisa Braeden,” he says, savoring the sound of her name in his mouth. “I know you know I thought this whole show was a load of [bleep].” She smiles, her eyes shining, and Dean grins, his chest swelling slightly before continuing. “But, I mean, that was before I stepped out of that limo the first night. Holy [bleep] was I not expecting you. I mean, I knew you were gorgeous in photos and on TV, but in person, it's just—you're beautiful, Lis.”

Dean reaches forward and tucks a strand of loose hair behind Lisa's ear, offering her a small smile and hoping the camera didn’t pick up the way his hand shook. “And the more I got to know you, the more right it felt. It was like, I don’t know, like I found something I’d been looking for, something I was honestly kind of doubting even existed. You gave me that, and I can never thank you enough for it.

“Lisa—” Dean makes to pull his hand out of his pocket with the ring and is halfway down on one knee, but before he can complete the gesture, Lisa grabs his wrist.

“Dean,” she interrupts. “I can't let you do this.”

When Dean looks up, startled, Lisa’s posture and style has taken a complete 180. Everything seems darker, and suddenly, her earlier question of, “So, how does this go?” makes much more sense.

“Oh,” is all he can manage to say.

She looks at him with wide, sad eyes. “I'm so sorry,” she says softly. “You're amazing. In every sense of the word, which I'm sure you know—” she smiles in an attempt to ease the onslaught of tension, “—but—”

“Not amazing enough,” Dean says quietly, which is when Lisa pulls him to his feet and into a hug. Her shoulders shake as he keeps his arms at his sides before halfheartedly wrapping them around her, giving her an awkward pat on the back.

“I'm so sorry,” she says again. “You don't know how hard this was—”

Dean pulls away from her embrace with a humorless chuckle as he looks up at the ceiling. He’s not crying on national TV, he’s fucking  _not_ —

“You’re okay,” he says. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“Dean—”

“Really.” He wants to be sick. He can feel Lisa’s eyes on him, and he knows the goddamn cameras are there, too, just waiting for him to give them something good. For him to yell or cry or try to change Lisa’s mind or demand answers or refuse to leave so they have to drag him away. Some dude did that a few seasons ago, and people are  _still_ talking about it.

Well, they can fuck off. He’s given them more than they deserve, and he closes his eyes, biting on the inside of his cheek to keep his face emotionless save for a small, tight-lipped smile.

“You’re okay,” he says again, walking toward the door. He stops when he gets to the doorway and pauses for a few seconds, then sets the ring box down on the polished end table next to it, tapping two fingers on top of it before walking away, bypassing Chuck and making a beeline back out into the snowy night.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re judging me, aren’t you?”

Cas is lying on his back, holding his kitten Oliver’s small front paws in his hands. He makes his paws move around in uncoordinated little dance moves, and the kitten stares at him blankly, bored.

“I know it’ll be a great episode ratings-wise,” Cas says, “and our downloads will skyrocket, but he’s a dick. I don’t want to talk to him.” He stops making Oliver dance and looks seriously into the kitten’s eyes. “I’m part of this show, too, aren’t I? Shouldn’t _my_ opinion count toward _something_?”

Oliver mews noncommittally. He tugs his paws out of Cas’ hands and curls up in a ball on his chest, effectively calling the conversation finished.

“I appreciate the support, Ollie,” he mutters.

The kitten doesn't respond, and Cas sighs. No matter how much he doesn’t want to be in the studio for this particular recording, it’s still a commitment, despite the fact that his parents and some of his more practical siblings might call it a waste of time since he doesn’t get paid.

As he gathers his things into his messenger bag and pulls a sweater over his head in preparation against the cold outside, he tries to focus on the positives.

His co-hosts and best friends, Billie and Hannah, can do all the talking.

It should go by quickly, and if he needs to, he can duck into the bathroom or feign sickness to get out of large chunks of the afternoon.

And most importantly, he’ll have a _great_ piece of eye candy. Cas can still recognize a ridiculously good-looking man when he sees one (even if said man _is_ a dick).

Cas grabs his keys and calls, “Behave yourself, Ollie,” over his shoulder before closing and locking the door behind him.  


 

The walk to the Ansin Building is long and monotonous, just what Cas needs to clear his head. As he gets closer to Ansin, he can hear other music permeating through his headphones, and he pulls them off, draping them around his neck as he listens to the afternoon alternative show being pumped out of WERS. The college radio station always broadcasts their shows out to the public, and that’s part of how Cas had stumbled into the radio club his freshman year at Emerson. 

He pulls open the heavy Victorian door and steps into the building. The security guard, a lanky grad student from MIT named Ash (who, if Cas is being honest, really has no business being a security guard), nods at him while drumming his palms to the beat of the music. Cas nods back before tapping his ID against the scanner on Ash’s desk and heading down to the basement.

Even though it’s located deep below the city streets, the studio is warm and inviting, packed with worn, overstuffed furniture, the walls painted a soft yellow, and Cas smiles to himself as he drops his bag onto a nearby chair. The studio has been a haven of sorts to Cas even after graduation, and he’s grateful the administration allows him and his co-hosts to record their podcast using their equipment.

Hannah, a writing major he met during his intro to film studies class, is finishing up some kind of salad wrap; she looks up and waves when he enters. The table she’s sitting at is littered with scrap pieces of paper, cups of half-drunk coffee, and more colored Sharpies than Cas can count. She clears several items out of the way to make a space for him.

“Excited for today?” she asks once Cas has taken a seat across from her at the table.

“Did he cancel?”

“No.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Then, no.”

Hannah sighs and rests her chin in her hand, still chewing. “Are you going to be like this all afternoon?”

Cas shrugs and pulls out his phone. “This whole situation could’ve been avoided if you and Billie had just listened to me and not invited him on in the first place.”

Hannah stares at him, not breaking eye contact as she swallows. “You know that’s not an option. Having him on is going to be huge, and you know it.”

Cas looks at her and smiles humorlessly. “Sure.”

“You know we couldn’t pass—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I get it. Just don’t expect me to contribute much.”

“No one’s asking you to.”

“But I don’t know why the hell you’d want to pass up the opportunity.” Cas and Hannah turn around to see their third co-host, Billie, enter the room. She pulls out the chair next to Cas and takes a seat, crossing her arms over her chest and studying him amusedly. “You were like a lovesick middle schooler when he was first introduced. What happened?”

Cas digs into his bag until he finds his water bottle, answers to Billie’s question racing through his head and fighting for attention.

_He’s fake._

_He’s a smarmy, self-obsessed, washed-up reality star, probably already primed to show up on the next season of_ Dancing with the Stars _._

_He reminds me of all the fucked up people I used to know._

_He reminds me of how fucked up_ I _am._

“I’ll let you know whenever I figure it out.”

Billie rolls her eyes. “More time for us, then.”

Cas holds his arm out in a classic _be-my-guest_ gesture that just makes Billie flip him off. He smirks, and Hannah waves her hand in between the two of them.

“Back to your corners,” she says distractedly. “He’ll be here any minute; we can’t have his first impression of us be a fight.”

As if on cue, their sound engineer, Charlie, bursts into the room, a giant grin plastered across her face. “Holy fuck, he’s here,” she hisses, taking care to keep her voice low, but the brightness in her eyes betrays just how excited she is. “Everybody be cool.”

“Follow your own advice, girl,” Billie says, nudging Charlie good-naturedly. “Christ.”

Before Charlie can respond, there’s a faint knock on the door frame, and all four of them whirl around. Dean Winchester, _Bachelorette_ runner-up 2018, the man who captured America’s hearts the second he stepped out of the limo, and the man Cas hasn’t been able to stand for just as long, is standing in the doorway to their studio.

And Cas is fuming, fucking _fuming_. The guy is even more goddamn gorgeous in person.

Hannah is quick to jump up and make a beeline for Dean, who grins widely at her. “I’m so glad you could make it, thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to talk with us,” she says, grabbing his hand with both of hers and shaking it vigorously.

“It must’ve been hard to find some free time in your busy schedule,” Cas says, tapping his pen on the table. “How _did_ you do it?” He’s proud of himself; the comment comes out less acidic than he’d intended, but still snarky enough to get his point across, which he’s sure he did—Dean’s looking at him now, eyes narrow.

“I managed,” he says, then sticks his hand out to Cas. “Dean Winchester.”

Cas looks down at Dean’s outstretched hand for a second too long before shaking it. Dean’s grip is warm and firm, which just makes him more annoyed. “Cas Novak,” he says flatly, and Dean nods. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something else, when Billie intervenes.

“You’ve been in my top three since the moment I saw you, Winchester,” she says with a grin.

Dean’s eyes brighten at that, and he tilts his chin up toward her. “Yeah? Appreciate the vote of confidence."

“You should’ve gone all the way,” Billie continues. “Michael was a prick in an overpriced suit.”

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad,” Dean says, but his eyes make it clear that he completely agrees with Billie’s sentiment.

“Well, Lisa’s loss is our gain,” she says. “I’d much rather talk to you for an hour than Michael, and I think everyone here agrees.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas, but doesn’t comment. “Glad to hear it,” he says instead with a grin. “This’ll be fun.”

Cas could think of at least seventeen other words more suitable to describe the situation, but he just shoves them to the back of his mind and puts on his headphones.

 _It’s only for an hour._  


 

This is awful. 

Horrible.

Shit-tastic.

Dean is just as goddamn charming and funny and dashing in person as he was on TV. He’s giving Cas nothing to work with, nothing to justify how much he can’t stand him. The closest he can get, though, is that if his personality mirrors the one shown on TV so much, then all the other bullshit around him does, too. He might be charming, funny, and dashing, but that also means he's just as self-centered, cocky, and smarmy as he'd seemed in the _Bachelor_ mansion.

Hannah and Billie pepper him with questions about life on the set, his favorite castmates, and exactly how much producers influenced the course of events on the show. Cas stays quiet for most of the interview, only interjecting or commenting when called upon, but just as they’re about to start wrapping up, he decides that he can’t help himself.

“So what’d it feel like?” he challenges. “To have your heart broken on national TV in front of millions of people?”

Dean gives him a side-eye that Cas would have to have been blind to miss, but his voice doesn’t betray his emotions when he answers. “I mean, what do you think?” he asks. “It fucking—can we swear on this show?—it fucking sucked. It was embarrassing, getting pity from random strangers on the street who thought I’d been given a raw deal, that I deserved better or some shit.

“But it also led to me getting laid more times in two weeks than I had in my entire life,” he adds with a grin. “Win some, lose some.”

Billie holds out her hand for a fist bump, which Dean gladly reciprocates. “Speaking of getting laid,” she says, leaning back in her chair, “ _Bachelor in Paradise_ is coming up.” Her voice is teasing, and she doesn’t even need to ask the question.

Dean chuckles and winks. “Well, I _was_ supposed to wait until tomorrow to announce it…”

Hannah, Billie, and Charlie let out one long collective gasp, then immediately start asking Dean new questions. Will he be on the beach from the start, or show up later? What’s his strategy? Is there anyone in particular he’s hoping to see there?

“Start, wing it, everyone,” Dean says with a grin.

“Color me shocked,” Cas deadpans, rolling his eyes at Dean’s typical playboy response.

Dean clears his throat in an attempt to hide his discomfort; Cas can feel his co-hosts’ eyes boring holes into him.

“Cas would never tell you,” Hannah says, looking pointedly at Cas, “but he was _so excited_ when he heard that you’d be going on _The Bachelorette_.”

Dean tilts his head slightly, a bemused little smirk on his lips, before glancing at Cas. “That so? I’d never have guessed.”

Cas slumps down in his chair and shoots daggers at Hannah, who promptly avoids his gaze. “Key word being _was_ ,” he corrects.

Dean wants to ask him a lot of things, Cas can tell. Why he’d been excited, when that changed, _why_ it changed, but instead, he just rests his cheek against his hand and says, “Hmm. Well, I always like a challenge,” before winking at him from across the table. Cas can feel his cheeks burning, and although his first instinct is to avert his eyes, he narrows them in answer to his challenge instead.

Cas has never been good at coming up with retorts in the moment, so he’s secretly relieved when Billie resumes hold of the conversation, starting the episode’s wrap-up. Dean turns his attention back toward her—slowly, with glances back at Cas every so often, he can’t help but notice—and slips easily back into his charming, conceited self.

If Cas hurt his feelings, Dean Winchester is really fucking good at hiding it.

Eventually, the taping ends, and everyone takes off their headphones—except for Cas. He leaves them on and starts tapping on his phone, making it clear that he wants and will have nothing to do with Dean goddamn Winchester for the rest of his time in the studio.

The headphones are noise-cancelling, but as Cas scrolls through Reddit, he hears his co-hosts exchanging a few last pleasantries and well wishes with Dean, and glances up to see him waving as he heads for the door, Hannah trailing behind.

Fucking finally.

Hannah waves once more before closing the door and promptly melting into a puddle. “Oh my god,” she mutters.

“He’s fucking _perfect_ ,” Billie says, laughing. “I don’t know what the fuck Lisa was thinking.”

Cas pulls off his headphones and drapes them around his neck, then readjusts in his chair to tuck his legs underneath himself, chin in his hand. “Maybe that she didn’t want some fake jerkoff as a husband.”

His co-hosts turn toward him, glaring. “What is _with_ you, Cas?” Hannah asks. “You could’ve at least _tried_ to be civil. You know, even just a little bit. A pinch. A smidge.”

“I know him,” Cas insists. “He doesn’t deserve any civility. He’s just an attention whore, a player who will do anything to get in the hot girl’s pants.”

“Or guy’s,” Billie points out helpfully. Cas glares at her, and she shrugs. “Hey, just being accurate, man.”

“The _point_ ,” Cas says, in an effort to get the conversation back on track, “is that no matter how charming or perfect he might seem, Dean Winchester is a con man, a raging asshole who doesn’t care about anybody but himself.”

“Uh, guys?”

Hannah, Billie, and Cas turn around to see Charlie standing in the doorway. She holds up her hand, a neon green sticky note stuck to two fingers.

“Dean left his number,” she says. “For Cas.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s silent in the room for all of two seconds as everyone absorbs this information; then, almost as quickly, the three women are swarming around Cas excitedly.

“You’re gonna call him, right? You _have_ to call him.”

“Shit, we’ll need at least three episodes to cover this date.”

Cas can’t stop his jaw from dropping, and he stares at his friends incredulously. “No. Who said I’m even _going_ on this stupid date?” He pauses, then adds, “Who knows if it’s even a date? No. It’s probably a joke. I’m not doing it.”

Billie stares at him flatly. “You’re fucking ridiculous, Novak.”

Cas glares at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “I gave zero signs that I was interested in him. _Ze-ro_. Why would he want to give me his number?”

Hannah grins, a sparkle in her eye. “He always likes a challenge,” she says, and Billie and Charlie burst into laughter.

Cas can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment, and silently curses Dean Winchester in his mind. “No,” he says again, more firmly this time, and his friends erupt into groans around him.

“Come _on_ ,” Billie says. “Take one for the team.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cas says with a glare.

“Listen,” Hannah says, resting her hands flat against Cas’ chest. “At the best, you’ll get a meal out of it, and at the worst, an awkward conversation you can tell us about later. At least _think_ about it, okay? Please?”

Cas’ eyes dart from Hannah to Billie to Charlie, and they’ve all got the same expression of hopeful yet cautious optimism on their faces. It would be so easy for him to say no, to never have to see Dean Winchester again, but it’s even easier for him to cave to the desires of his friends, and he sighs.

“I’ll think about it,” he says. The women’s eyes light up, and he holds up a finger warningly. “ _Think_ about it.”

“Should I go ahead and make dinner reservations for you two now, then?” Billie asks with a smirk.

Cas glares at her. “I should say no right now, just to spite you.”

Billie crosses her arms over her chest, unimpressed. “You won’t.”

Cas maintains eye contact for a few seconds, then sighs and slings his jacket over his shoulder, knowing full well that by the end of the night, he’ll have agreed to this stupid goddamn date.

 

* * *

  

**_Season 29, Episode 1_ **

The fourth limo pulls up in front of the mansion, and the second the men inside get a glimpse of Lisa, they dissolve into whistles and cheers.

“God _damn_ ,” says Victor Henriksen, a minor league hockey player from New York. Benny Lafitte, a restaurant owner from New Orleans, adjusts his tie nervously.

“She’s beautiful,” breathes Kevin Tran. He’s young, a children’s librarian from San Francisco, and practically has his face pressed up against the window like an excited kid at a museum. Lisa waves to the limo in general, and the entire group practically melts into the floor.

She’s stunning, and any trace of nervousness she might have been feeling isn’t detected by any of the men waiting to meet her. One by one, they take turns stepping out of the limo and walking toward her. Some are smooth and confident, some are adorably nervous, and others are just reminiscent of cringe-worthy first dates.

Eventually, it’s Dean Winchester’s turn. A handsome teacher from Kansas with sweet eyes and an even sweeter smile, he moves and talks with the confidence of someone who knows all eyes are regularly on him—and revels in it.

He adjusts the lapels on his jacket before glancing back at his fellow bachelors. “Wish me luck, fellas,” he says with a small grin, before stepping out of the limo.

_“My name’s Dean.” His voice plays over a few staged scenes of things that make up his life: him teaching a few kids in a classroom, him tuning up his car, him toasting to the end of a long work week at a bar with friends. “I’m 28, and an elementary school teacher from Lawrence, Kansas. I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women.” The footage cuts to himself in a confessional interview, and he grins before adding, “And men.”_

Lisa’s face brightens the second she gets a full glimpse of Dean, and she smiles, not bothering to hide the way her eyes roam over his body. He returns the favor and walks toward her, holding his arms out.

“The famed Lisa Braeden?” he asks, taking her hands in his.

She’s full-on _beaming_ now. “The very same.”

Dean brings one of her hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m Dean,” he says.

“It’s a pleasure,” she says, going along with his overly fancy tone and actions.

“Oh, pleasure’s all mine.” He grins and takes yet another sweeping glance over her body. “Find me inside?”

“You can bet on it,” she says. He puckers his lips and blows her a quick, microscopic kiss that makes her face go as pink as her dress before heading inside. “[ _Bleep_ ], he’s hot,” she mutters, “where the hell did they find him?”

The camera pans along with him, and he winks, making a beeline for the booze table in the mansion’s extravagant living room.

 _“I don’t think they were really_ looking _for the show’s first openly bisexual contestant, but come on, does anyone ever really look for perfection? We tend to just...show up wherever we’re needed. I’m stoked to be here, excited to meet Lisa, and just spend the next couple months surrounded by people ready to get down and dirty in more ways than one.”_

_The producer asks another question, off-camera, and Dean pauses. “Do I think I still would’ve gotten on the show even if I was straight?” Dean pauses, then grins. “You tell me.”_

The mansion is filled with men who are already four or five drinks deep, chatting, walking around, and stuffing their faces with the meager spread just off camera. A few are convinced that their seconds-long interaction with Lisa is a story they’ll both be telling their grandkids one day; some are trying to drown their nerves in alcohol; one or two are prepping for their confessional interviews.

 _“Oh, she’s_ beautiful _,” Andy Gallagher, a medicinal marijuana distributor from Colorado, says. “So far out of my league, I honestly feel like I should go home now, save us all the time and trouble.”_

_“A knockout,” Gordon Walker, a special effects coordinator for basic cable, says with a low whistle. “Damn. Can’t wait to find out what a guy’s gotta do to get underneath that dress, ha.”_

_Alastair Cooke, a plastic surgeon, cracks his knuckles. “She’s mine,” he says. “From the moment I saw her, I knew it. She’s the one for me. Now, if you don’t mind…” He finishes his drink in one quick gulp, then stands up and leaves the interview room, presumably to go continue a conversation with Lisa._

_“Do I think they’re good guys?” Dean repeats the question, then shrugs. “Yeah, of course. They’re great guys, ‘m sure. But ‘good guys’ isn’t the same thing as ‘competition.’”_

Lisa spends the night mingling with the thirty some-odd men, laughing at jokes, swooning over biceps, assuaging fears. With the help of a handful of PAs and production interns, she manages to keep everyone’s names straight, and soon enough, everyone’s on their fifth or sixth drink, and the sun is beginning to rise on the mansion.

_“They’re great,” she says with a laugh. “They’re all such good guys, I don’t know how y’all managed to hit every one of my weak spots. It’s, I already know it’s going to be hard, even just eliminating the first few tonight; I feel like I already know them so well, and it’s only going to get harder from here._

_“But my husband is in there somewhere,” she says, smiling. “I know it.”_

After a short reprieve, Lisa returns to the mansion’s living room with Chuck trailing behind her. The buzz of conversation between the men quickly dies down and they all turn their attention to Lisa like students whose teacher has just entered the room.

“Gentlemen,” Chuck says, “the cocktail party has concluded. Now, Lisa will choose the recipient of the first impression rose, then decide who will be moving on to tomorrow, and who will be heading home tonight.”

Lisa smiles at all of them in turn as she makes her way to the coffee table, picking up the single rose boutonniere resting on its surface. She looks down at the rose in her hand, then her eyes flick back up. “Dean,” she says. “Can I steal you?”

The room goes silent, and Dean’s mouth quirks up in a pleased little smile as he gets to his feet. “Absolutely, you can,” he says. He holds his hand out and she takes it as they walk out toward the pool. They stop at two lounge chairs and sit down on the end of one, knees practically touching as they share the small space.

“So, you’re not stupid,” Lisa says suddenly. “You know what this is.”

Dean glances at the rose, then back at her. “I have a pretty good idea, yeah.”

She looks down and grins, shaking her head. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she says. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you’re...intriguing. There are a lot of handsome, funny, sweet, charming guys in the house tonight,” she continues, “but for some reason, you’re the one I can’t get out of my mind.”

Dean grins, green eyes sparkling—from booze or the moonlight, it’s hard to tell. “You’re tearing me apart, Lisa.”

She laughs, “Don’t ruin the moment, you jerk,” and smacks him playfully on the shoulder, then looks down at the single rose in her hand.

“Dean,” she continues, “will you accept this rose?”

“I’d be honored,” he says, leaning forward so that she can pin the rose to his jacket. Once it’s been fastened to the fabric and she sits back, he flashes her a soft smile and scoots forward, closing the few remaining inches between them.

In a wordless gesture of permission, Lisa stays where she is, and practically melts into Dean’s touch when he rests his hand on her cheek. He presses his lips to hers and they kiss, long and loud and just a little bit sloppy.

Several of the men are crowded around the big bay window looking out to the pool and patio, cursing Dean while simultaneously wishing they were in his shoes.

_Benny is trying hard to keep himself from laughing. “That little mother[bleeper] wasted no time, huh?” he says with a laugh._

_Michael, a real estate broker from upstate New York, clears his throat and adjusts his tie. “Dean is quite the sloppy one,” he says. “But I’m not worried. Lisa might like someone who moves fast at first, but she wants a husband, not a one-night stand. Dean is most definitely the latter.”_

_Victor sits in his confessional interview, a fairly obvious fake smile plastered across his face. “Well,” he falters, “that’s, uh, sure. That’s a thing that happened.”_

Lisa and Dean continue to kiss for a few more seconds before Lisa breaks the kiss. Dean keeps his eyes trained on her lips for a few seconds more before looking back up at her.

“You sure work fast, don’t you,” she says, smiling at him.

Dean grins back, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Gotta make the most of the time we’ve got.” With that, he tucks a loose strand of hair back behind Lisa’s ear, leans in, and kisses her once more.

_Dean grins widely, brushes his shoulders off casually before glancing down at the rose pinned to his lapel and then back up at the camera, waggling his eyebrows. His eyes are slightly glassy from the booze; he narrows them and grins mischievously at the camera._

_“I’m in,” he says, throwing his head back and downing another shot._

 

* * *

 

_I’m in._

_I’m in._

_I’m in_. As if he’s part of some secret spy mission to capture the hearts of America. As if everything he’s about to do is a farce, just something to kill time and make him some money and fame in the meantime.

 _I’m in._ As if he’s bored, and interested in fucking with people who just want to find someone who can make them happy. Cas has had more than enough experience with those kinds of people; he doesn’t need to add another one to his repertoire.

 _I’m in._ That had been exactly when Cas had decided he had no reason to trust anything that came out of Dean Winchester’s gorgeous goddamn mouth.

Cas thinks of that scene over and over as he makes the trek back to his apartment. He had been so excited to see Dean be featured on the show, had been hoping that he’d be proud and not let down by whatever Hollywood had up its sleeve.

He could forgive a few overly dramatic quips or scenes from Dean; this was _The Bachelorette_ , after all. But the more often they came, the more trouble Cas had convincing himself that it was all an act, that the Dean he was seeing on TV was, well, a good person. Everything about him struck Cas as something fake, something he couldn’t set his hopes on.

Cas tries to shove any thoughts of Dean Winchester to the back of his mind as he unlocks the front door of the three-decker he lives in and climbs the stairs to the third floor. He takes care to avoid the rotted-out step near the second floor landing, jams his shoulder against the door to force it open, and tosses his keys and messenger bag onto the tiny kitchen table before dropping onto the couch and turning on the TV.

One of Cas’ coping mechanisms for when he’s particularly stressed is reality TV. It started in college, with episodes of _Ink Master_ and _Survivor_ and _Wife Swap_ and _Chopped_ giving him something to have on in the background, something he could tune in and out of as his mind allowed. Early on in his freshman year during a particularly bad bout of homesickness, he’d stumbled upon Hannah, Billie, and Charlie watching _The Bachelor_ in the common room of their dorm, and after months of constant bickering, arguing, and speculating about the ongoing season, their RA, a perpetually tired-looking theatre major named Naomi, had sarcastically suggested that they turn their viewing habits into some kind of radio show. She’d suggested it because other students had started complaining about the four of them constantly hogging the community TV, but to Cas, Charlie, Hannah, and Billie, the idea was genius.

They were only freshmen, but Charlie had sweet-talked a few members of the sound engineering department and managed to land them a late-night slot at Emerson’s radio station, Saturday nights at 1am. They had a grand total of three live listeners for their premiere, but once Charlie started archiving the episodes and turning them into podcasts, Rose-Colored Glasses started picking up steam. They’d gained a cult following, both in and out of Emerson, so much so that by the time the four friends had graduated, there had been no question that they’d continue the show.

It’s nothing he can cash in on, which his parents aren’t thrilled about, but Cas doesn’t care. He can make ends meet with his day job, and everybody needs something to look forward to after their nine-to-five. He refuses to admit it unless he’s under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol, but Cas really can’t imagine his life without the friendships and memories made by this stupid show.

Cas grins to himself at his college memories as he clicks over to his DVR, which is when he realizes that he’s still got 15 episodes of _The Bachelorette_ saved. They’ve all been watched, and they’re taking up valuable memory space. Cas mentally chides himself for not deleting them and opens the folder to do just that, but stops short.

All the episodes are from Dean’s season. Every. Single. One.

He should delete them; the season is over, there’s no reason he needs them anymore. It’s not like he’s going to watch them again.

At least, he doesn’t think he will.

He clicks over to the DELETE ALL button, but instead of hitting enter, he just keeps looking at the screen. The pilot episode is the first one listed, and his mind wanders back to the day the contestants had been announced, to the day that he first set eyes on Dean Winchester and his crooked, shit-eating grin that he never seemed to leave home without.

 

* * *

 

**_Then_ **

 

Cas had been so excited that _The Bachelor_ franchise was finally entering the 21st century and including its first openly bisexual contestant. Sure, he wasn’t _the_ bachelor, just one of the contestants, but Cas would take what he could get at this point. 

He purses his lips, staring intently at Hannah’s laptop screen as he scans quickly through all the names and photos, searching for one in particular.

“Found him!” Charlie yelps, spinning her laptop around to show them all. She points to one headshot in the middle of the page, and Cas’ gut twists in excitement.

Dean Winchester, _The Bachelorette_ ’s first openly bisexual contestant. He’s been all Twitter and gossip outlets have been able to talk about for weeks now, and finally having a face to match to the name is almost surreal.

“Jesus,” Cas mutters.

“You can say that again, Novak,” Billie says.

It’s obvious that the producers of _The Bachelor_ and _The Bachelorette_ cherry-pick the most attractive human beings they can find for their shows each season, but they really outdid themselves with Dean Winchester, 28, from Lawrence, Kansas.

He’s not just handsome, but _gorgeous_. His crooked grin and bright green eyes make it clear that he’s ready to play and take anyone who’s willing with him. He’s toned and muscled, but not overly so.

He’s perfect.

“He’s going on my number one, for sure,” Billie says, scribbling his name down in her _Bachelorette_ bracket.

“Hold on, we haven’t even read his bio yet,” Hannah says, commandeering the laptop and turning it towards her before clicking on Dean’s headshot.

 

_Dean W._

_Age: 28_

_Occupation: Elementary school teacher_

_Height: 6’3”_

_Tattoos: Why spoil the surprise?_

_Would you describe yourself as “the party-starter,” “the wingman,” or “the laid back one?”: All of the above._

_What is the most outrageous thing you've ever done? Gotten high and tackled someone in a mascot suit at Plucky Pennywhistle’s because my brother and I convinced ourselves that they were responsible for a murder that had happened earlier that week. It was a weird day._

_What is your greatest achievement to date? Raising my little brother._

_What's the most romantic present you have ever received and why? The cork from a bottle of wine we’d split on our first date for our two-year anniversary. Wish it ended better, but here we are._

_What does your ideal mate look like? Lisa Braeden._

_How would you describe yourself as a lover? Everything you never knew you needed._

_If you could do/have any job in the world, what would it be and why? Mechanic. I love cars, especially my ‘67 Chevy Impala, my Baby._

 

Billie lets out a low whistle as they finish reading Dean’s answers, and Charlie’s eyes are shining with glee. 

“Yeah, he’s going on my number one for sure,” Billie repeats, underlining his name a few times on her bracket for emphasis.

“Oh, he’s a game-changer,” Charlie says, kicking back in her chair and spinning around, arms outstretched. “They better not fuck him up.”

“You don’t think they’d make him the villain, do you?” Cas asks, scrutinizing Dean’s answers more closely. A childhood of reading and watching gay characters become villains or victims has made him anxious for Dean’s fate in the hands of the _Bachelorette_ ’s producers.

“No way,” Hannah says. “Heartthrob frontrunner, one hundred percent. I’d be surprised if he didn’t get the first impression rose, even if the producers have to make Lisa give it to him.”

“I doubt there’ll be much force involved,” Cas says. “Who _wouldn’t_ want to get on his good side?”

All three women laugh as Cas’ cheeks go pink. “Ooh, Novak’s got a crush,” Billie says teasingly.

“And the wedding will be...when?” Hannah adds.

Charlie keeps her reaction simple, just miming a dick in her mouth and nodding toward Cas with a smirk.

“Come on,” Cas says in a vain attempt to wave them off. “He and Lisa might already be _engaged_ right now, for all we know.”

He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t trying to tamp down the disappointment deep in his gut at that thought, though.

“Okay, okay, let’s start recording,” Hannah says, throwing on her headphones and tapping the table with her palms. “Come on, guys, while it’s all fresh in our minds.”

Cas and Billie follow her lead, with Charlie clacking nearby on her laptop as she sets up the sound gear. When she flashes them a thumbs up, their intentionally cringe-worthy theme song crackles through the speakers, and they waste no time launching into the conversation.

“Hi, everybody, and welcome to _Rose-Colored Glasses_! I’m Hannah—”

“I’m Cas.”

“And Billie.”

“We just saw the contestants for this season,” Hannah resumes, “and let me tell you, I am a changed woman. Lisa’s got her pick of the litter this season, but—”

“The only one we give a shit about is Dean fucking Winchester,” Billie finishes.

“Hey, come on, that’s rude,” Cas insists. “Someone might surprise us.”

Bille turns to face him, eyes unimpressed. “You really think that?”

Cas pauses for a few seconds. “No,” he finally concedes, and Hannah laughs while Billie smirks knowingly.

They go on to dissect everything Dean had said in his bio on the show’s website. Every so often, they include a tidbit about another contestant who might have even a snowball’s chance at taking the first prize of Lisa’s hand in marriage, but they might as well have renamed their show _Dean Winchester 101_ , at least for this episode.

They talk about what they think Dean’s like when he’s drunk (“Oh, the smoothest, no question”) or high (“He’d just sit there and cuddle and giggle and eat chips all night”), whether or not he’ll have a gimmick coming out of the limo (“Fuck, no, he doesn’t need it”), and what they’d do if they had a kid in Dean’s class and met him during parent-teacher conferences (“I mean, I wouldn’t be upset if my kid had to stay back an extra year...or three”).

About forty-five minutes into the episode, Cas is struck by something they’d all passed over earlier.

“Is nobody going to comment on the fact that he raised his little brother?” Cas asks, stunned that he’s the first one to bring it up.

“If we want to be fair, there’s a lot about him we need to highlight,” Billie says, “so the whole ‘saint on earth’ thing might have flown under the radar a bit.”

Cas rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of his water. It’s no secret to his friends and the podcast audience that he doesn’t have the best relationship with most of his family, so seeing someone so dedicated to his own is one of the strongest aphrodisiacs Cas can think of.

While Billie and Hannah continue the conversation with Charlie contributing every so often, as well, Cas pulls out his phone and opens his browser. He looks up the _Bachelor_ page and thumbs over to Dean’s profile again.

He’s gorgeous, of course, but Cas also sees a warmth in him that he’s immediately drawn to, almost more so than his eyes or his arms or his smile. He looks selfless, which is something Cas hadn’t expected from someone who could legally be considered an adonis.

“Cas!”

Cas jerks his head up quickly to see his co-hosts looking at him knowingly. “Getting lost in a certain someone’s green eyes down there?” Billie asks.

His cheeks are going red, he’s sure of it, but Cas tries to play it off. “It’s a free country,” he says, and Billie laughs.

“C’mon, Novak, don’t bring eye candy unless you have enough to share with the whole class.”

“My mistake.” Cas smirks and turns off his phone before sliding it back into his pocket. As discreetly as possible, with the overly optimistic hope of a nervous elementary schooler passing a “Do you like me, check yes or no” note to his crush, he grabs a pen and marks Dean as his runner-up on his bracket, with the secret, far-flung hope that maybe, just maybe he’d somehow run into Dean on the street, they’d fall head over heels for each other, and _he’d_ be the one accepting Dean’s rose.

A guy can dream, can’t he?

 

* * *

 

**_Now_ **

Cas glances down at his phone, then up at his TV, still showing the list of _Bachelorette_ episodes waiting to be deleted.

 “Fuck it,” he sighs, then grabs his phone, digs into his messenger bag for that stupid post-it note, and drafts a new text message before he can talk himself out of it.

_Cas, 7:32pm: Hello, Dean._

_Dean, 7:34pm: uh, hi?_

_Dean, 7:34pm: who’s this?_

_Cas, 7:35pm: Cas. Cas Novak. We met at the podcast taping._

_Dean, 7:38pm: CAS! the dude who hates my fucking guts!_

_Dean, 7:38pm: what can i do for you this fine evening_

_Dean, 7:38pm: ?_

Cas grits his teeth together.

_Cas, 7:40pm: I’d like to take you up on your offer._

Dean’s next text is nothing more than a thinking emoji, and Cas has to resist the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

_Dean, 7:43pm: idk, you were a real dick to me earlier_

_Cas, 7:44pm: I thought you liked a challenge._

_Dean, 7:46pm: touche_

There’s no additional response from Dean for a few minutes, and Cas rolls his eyes.

_Cas, 7:52pm: So?_

While he’s waiting, Cas thumbs through his phone and opens up Instagram. He hesitates for a second, then starts typing until he finds Dean’s profile.

Dean Winchester

@ **dwinchester67**

_Bachelorette ‘18 runner-up. Baby, burgers, booze. #nochickflickmoments_

Cas rolls his eyes at Dean’s brief bio, but scrolls through to his photos. They’re not as high-quality as he had been expecting, clearly selfies taken without the advice of a professional photographer, and are free from any of the ads or paid promotions that plague one too many of his fellow bachelors.

He finds the lack of sponsorship and composure more refreshing than he’d like to admit, but that’s a secret that’ll stay between him and Oliver.

A recent post catches Cas’ attention, and he taps on it. It’s a photo of Dean dressed in a simple, well-fitting suit against a white background. He’s leaning forward, one hand behind his back, the other holding a rose that he’s offering out to the viewer. One eyebrow raised, a crooked, closed-lipped smirk on his lips—he looks _good_ , and it’s clear that he knows it.

 _Thanks for everything, Bachelor Nation_ , the caption says _. Things didn’t work out the way I’d planned, but I still had a fuckin’ great time._

_Doesn’t change the fact that Lisa said no, though, so this is still up for grabs ;)_

Cas rolls his eyes, trying to mask his bitterness as he thumbs through the hundreds of adoring comments. Once he’s finished, he scrolls back through to the top of the post and, against his better judgment, pinches the photo to zoom in on Dean’s face.

Cas can practically count the freckles dusted across the bridge of Dean’s nose, can see the way the photographer’s flash makes his green eyes spark with mischief, and he wonders for a second why he’s putting himself through this. His fingers slip a bit on his screen as he zooms back out, and suddenly, a red heart pops up in the middle of the photo.

Cas’ eyes widen as his heart plummets deep down into his chest.

The little heart icon underneath Dean’s photo is now filled in red.

Cas liked Dean’s photo.

Dean is going to see that Cas liked his photo.

 _Fuck_.

He scrambles to unlike the photo and closes the app immediately before dropping the phone onto the coffee table, eyeing it warily as if he’s expecting it to come to life.

After what feels like an eternity, his phone screen lights up with a new notification, and Cas reaches for it, holding his breath. A new text from Dean, finally.

_Dean, 8:55pm: ya sure_

_Dean, 8:55pm: meet at harry’s at 7? thursday night?_

Cas breathes a sigh of relief when Dean doesn’t mention anything about Instagram. He must not have seen it; Cas must have undone it in time to beat the system.

_Cas, 8:57pm: Sure._

_Dean, 8:58pm: ok cool_

Just when Cas thinks he’s in the clear, another text from Dean comes through, this one including a screenshot of Dean’s notification page on Instagram, with “Novakastiel liked your photo” circled in red.

_Dean, 9:00pm: this you?_

_Cas, 9:00pm: No._

_Dean, 9:01pm: somebody’s thirsty_

Cas’ cheeks are burning, and he closes his fingers tighter around his phone. “Goddamn it,” he mutters.

_Cas, 9:02pm: You’re infuriating._

_Dean, 9:03pm: can’t wait to see you too ;)_

Cas locks his phone and tosses it onto the couch cushion next to him before burying his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he breathes. “ _Fuck_.”

He can’t believe this. He can’t believe he got roped into going on a date with Dean fucking Winchester. He can’t believe he got caught _creeping_ on Dean fucking Winchester.

As pissed and frustrated as he is, though, a tiny part of his brain still can’t believe that he _gets_ to go on a _date_ with Dean fucking Winchester.

His phone vibrates next to him, and Cas grabs for it without looking; after all, it’s not like things can get any worse. He clicks it on to unlock it, and sees one new notification that makes his heart sink and stomach twist in excitement all at once.

**Dean Winchester (@dwinchester67) followed you.**


	4. Chapter 4

Cas had opted not to go into detail about his interaction with Dean the other night; all his friends care about is the fact that he said yes, so that’s all he tells them. Instead of just letting him endure this humiliation in peace, though, they’ve got something else in mind.

“No,” Cas says the second they’ve all entered their Google Hangout. Hannah had sent out a group message earlier in the day with the idea that they should do a minisode devoted to Cas and Dean’s date, and Cas couldn’t put the kibosh on it fast enough.

“But—” Hannah starts.

“No one else knows about this,” he says, “and I intend to keep it that way. I’m not going to set myself up to become a laughingstock when whatever game he’s playing inevitably comes to light.”

“Come _on_ ,” Billie mutters, and Cas glares at her through the screen.

“He didn’t give me his number on the air,” he says. “There’s no reason for any of our listeners to hear about this stupid dinner that’ll probably end up with me half-deep in a bottle of wine and cursing myself for my shitty taste in friends.”

Charlie flips him off with both hands, and Cas immediately feels a pit of guilt start to build up low in his gut. They’re good friends, he knows that, but sometimes, sometimes he just needs to be reminded of that fact.

“You know what I mean,” he says by way of apology. “I don’t...you know. You’re not…”

“Sure, sure,” Hannah says distractedly. “You’re going on this date for us. Fine. We get it. But we need every detail, do you understand?”

Cas rolls his eyes and reaches down to scoop up Oliver, who’s made himself comfortable tangled in the blanket around Cas’ legs. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Just think of the meal,” Hannah says. “For your stomach _and_ your eyes.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

That’s the exact thought that’s been getting him through the last few days, but Cas decides to keep that fact to himself. Instead, he presses a kiss to the top of Oliver’s head and strokes his fingers through the soft fur between his ears.

“Spare no expense, Novak,” Billie says. “None.”

“Whatever. I’ve gotta go—”

“Hold the fuck on.” Charlie’s voice startles them all, and Cas stares at her. She’s staring intently at something on her screen, then suddenly seems to remember that everyone can see her. “Wait…” She taps her keyboard a few times and her screen is mirrored in Cas’. At least twelve tabs are open in her browser, and Cas cringes internally at the disorganization. The page she’s on, though, is Dean’s Instagram, and that makes him want to cringe even more.

“Do you guys see this?” Charlie’s voice crackles through the speakers.

“Gonna have to be more specific,” Billie says.

Charlie’s mouse circles frantically around Dean’s FOLLOWERS and FOLLOWING counts. “He follows literally ten people,” she says. “Ten.”

“And…?” Hannah asks impatiently.

Cas’ eyes widen. _Goddamn it_.

“It looks like Dean Winchester just found someone worthy of turning that number up to eleven.”

Charlie clicks on Dean’s FOLLOWING list, and sure enough, eleven profiles pop up. His brother, a few of his co-bachelors, a tattoo artist, a couple of chefs, and one Novakastiel.

Cas is going to be sick.

“Holy shit.” Hannah’s voice is high and excited, and Charlie’s beaming when she readjusts her monitor to show herself. “Holy _shit_!”

“How long have you known about this?” Billie demands.

“It’s nothing,” Cas insists. “He’s just—”

“He follows eleven fucking people,” Billie snaps. “ _Eleven_. Why didn’t you tell us you were one of them?”

“I’m...telling you now?”

“Did you follow him back?” Billie asks, ignoring his lackluster response to her question. “Tell me you fucking followed him back.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“ _What_ does, whether he’s worthy of showing up on your feed or not?” Billie rolls her eyes. “You follow at least twelve different dog accounts, Cas. At _least_. I think you can fit Dean fucking Winchester in there.”

“We’ll _see_ ,” Cas repeats, and Billie throws her hands up in frustration. Before anyone can say anything else, Cas repeats, “I’ve gotta go get ready. I’ll talk to you all later.”

“Every detail, Cas!” Hannah shouts as Cas mouses over to the exit button. “Every! Detail!” He closes the chat and logs out. 

“Every detail,” he repeats with a sigh.

* * *

 

Cas stands outside of Harry’s, staring through the glass windows at the people enjoying their meals and _not_ being on the verge of dealing with the most self-absorbed asshole on basic cable. He should’ve met Dean inside five minutes ago, but it’s all he can do not to just vomit from anxiety all over the sidewalk.

Maybe he could lie.

He’s got a creative writing degree, he could spin a fucking yarn about the evening. Yeah. He could do this. The more Cas thinks about it, the more he warms to the idea.

_Dean was ten minutes late. He didn’t even apologize, just waltzed on in and ordered a beer, then dropped a “Do you know who I am?” when it didn’t come fast enough for his liking. We made small talk, he judged me for my wine choices. The evening went by achingly slow, even with the alcohol, and we didn’t have anything in common. At all. I did get a good meal out of it, though, so I suppose it wasn’t—_

Suddenly, a hand claps down on Cas’ shoulder, jerking him out of his fantasy dinner.

“Well, _hey_ there, handsome,” a voice behind him says, and Cas stiffens immediately. He doesn’t have to turn around to identify the speaker, but does anyway, and comes face-to-face with Dean Winchester’s immaculate mug.

Cas hates himself for the way a warmth starts building in his stomach as he looks at Dean. As usual, he looks effortlessly good, like he just woke up, threw on some clothes, and took the train over here without any fanfare, which Cas is sure is exactly how it went down. His worn but well-fitting jeans cling to him in all the right ways, and the green and black flannel shirt he’s wearing brings out his eyes so much more than Cas is willing to admit.

Dean grins at him, and Cas sighs.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Dean says, slinging his arm across Cas’ shoulders and squeezing him close in a bro hug. Cas rolls his eyes, shoves his way out of Dean’s one-armed embrace, and starts toward the restaurant.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Dean wastes no time, peppering Cas with questions the moment they walk in the door. “Do any more Instagram creepin’ last night?” His eyes are bright even in the dimness of the restaurant, and Cas can tell that he’s clearly enjoying the way Cas’ cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“That was a mistake,” Cas says simply, following the hostess to their table and dropping into his seat.

“Freudian slip?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Cas glares at him.

“Mis _take_.”

Dean grabs his own seat and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Jesus.” He grabs his menu and starts scanning the dinner options. Cas tries to do the same, but he keeps finding himself glancing up at Dean.

It’s only a matter of seconds until Dean catches him doing so, peeking up over the top of his own menu. “I did some.”

“Some what?”

“Take a guess.” Dean shrugs and resumes looking over the menu. “Your cat’s cute,” he says. “Oliver, right?”

Cas stares at him. “How do you know that?”

“Jesus, dude, he’s all you ever post about.”

“There’s a reason my Instagram is set to private.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t _have_ to add me.”

Dean narrows his eyes and grins at Cas, knowing he’s caught him. Cas closes his eyes and sighs, trying to fight off the blush creeping up his neck, then waves his hand noncommittally in the air. “Just...order.”

Dean is silent for the next few minutes, pondering the menu before their waitress arrives to take their orders. He decides on a bacon cheeseburger—extra bacon, extra cheese, extra fries—and Cas wrinkles his nose when Dean hands the menu back to the waitress with a crooked grin.

Once she’s out of earshot, Dean’s gaze zeroes back in on Cas, making him feel like a lab experiment. He tries to combat the awkwardness by focusing on enjoying his glass of room-temperature water.

“So,” Dean says, undeterred, plopping his hands folded neatly in front of him on the table. “Why do you hate me?”

Taken aback by the question, Cas chokes on his drink. He coughs a few times, trying and failing to be discreet about it, before looking up at Dean.

“I don’t—”

“Save it for someone without eyes, dude.” Dean leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “You weren’t exactly subtle back in the studio. What—did I steal your girl? Or guy? Were you best friends with Alastair?”

Cas bristles when Dean mentions the name of the season’s villain and Dean’s arch-nemesis, a cocky, homophobic plastic surgeon with an unbearable voice and even more unbearable social media presence.

“God, no.”

Dean wipes his forehead with the back of his hand in feigned relief. “Glad we’ve gotten that out of the way. So what is it, then?”

For a few seconds, Cas considers keeping up the facade, insisting that he’s fine, he’s ambivalent toward Dean, he’s just doing this for his friends, couldn’t give less of a shit. But one more look into Dean’s eyes tells him that the guy’s bullshit sensor is on red alert, and he sighs.

“I just, I know people like you.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Are you really doing this right now?” Cas hisses over the table. “At a restaurant?”

Dean holds his hands up in mock surrender. “You started it.”

Cas glares at him. “You’re a child.”

“Takes one to know one.”

It takes all Cas has not to up and leave the restaurant in a huff, but aside from the potential embarrassment and explanations he’d have to give to Billie, Hannah, and Charlie, he didn’t want to let Dean think he’d won. So he takes a deep breath and considers Dean’s smug face.

“You’re a player,” he says. “A fake. You’re cocky and self-absorbed and don’t think of anyone but yourself.”

The first two insults seem to bounce off Dean easily, but Cas doesn't miss the way his eyes darken at the last one.

“You don’t know me, pal,” he says, his voice stiff.

“I know enough.”

Dean doesn’t even try to hide it; he laughs out loud in disbelief. “From a fucking TV show? You think you know me from two hours a week for three months?”

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Cas knows Dean is right. He knows how much producers have their hands in what happens on screen, how editors can do their magic to create drama in even the simplest of scenes, how the Dean he saw is—has got to be—at least 95% fake. But something about Dean, or the way the show portrayed Dean, throws Cas back to his young adulthood, a time when every boy who gave him the time of day had done so just to fuck with him, a time he’d hoped he’d never have to revisit.

“Fine,” Cas finally snaps. “Do you want to know why?”

Dean spreads his hands wide, a _well, duh_ expression on his face.

Cas takes a deep breath, then looks down at his lap. He shouldn’t do this, bare his soul to someone he just fucking met, someone who undoubtedly would have no problem making fun of him for his problems and using them against him. “You…”

“I’m _waiting_ , sweetheart,” Dean says once Cas takes a few more seconds to pause. “We gonna do this, or—”

“...are every guy who hated me in high school,” he finally says quietly, defeatedly. “The ones who were athletes and would shove me in lockers. The ones…” _The ones who would kiss me in the janitor’s closet, only to kick my face in two hours later in front of the football team when school let out._

Dean’s face softens at the way Cas’ words trail off. He’s silent for a few seconds, filling in the blanks for himself and understanding that Cas’ silence stems from more than just hypotheticals, then says, “Good thing I suck at sports then, huh?”

And Cas can’t help it; the corners of his lips twitch up before he can stop them or hide it. It can barely be considered a smile, but Dean jumps all over it. His face cracks into a toothy grin, and he leans back in his chair, pointing at Cas accusingly. “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

 _Shit_. Cas waves it off. “It was nothing,” he says.

“Sure.”

“They said something funny,” Cas insists, nodding toward the family at the table behind them.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m not _that_ much of an idiot.”

“So you’d still call yourself something of an idiot, then?”

Looking almost as surprised at his sass as Cas feels, Dean opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, their waitress appears at their sides, setting plates of steaming hot food in front of them. Dean glances down at his burger, then up at Cas.

“Saved by the burger,” he says. He takes a bite and adds, “A goddamn delicious one, at that.”

Cas ignores him, opting to start digging into his chicken wrap instead. He’s only a few bites in when Dean waves his hand vaguely at him in a half-assed attempt to get his attention.

“Y’re just like Sammy,” he says through a mouthful of burger. “Rabbit food, day in, day out.”

“Forgive me for not wanting to drop dead of a heart attack before I’m forty,” Cas mutters.

Dean looks at him as he chews, bored, not moving anything but his jaw. He swallows and is about to say something in retort when two young girls approach the table.

“Uh, Dean?” They’re talking as if they know him, but it’s clear from the second he turns around that Dean has no idea who either of them are.

One girl elbows the other hard in the side. “I told you it was him,” she whispers, and the girl who had spoken first goes red.

“I, uh, I’m sorry,” she stammers. “Could we, um, if it’s not too much trouble, could we get a picture with you?”

Dean’s eyes dart toward Cas, but Cas can tell he would’ve ignored him even if Cas had said no. “Yeah, ‘course.” He gets to his feet and wraps his arms around the girls, one of whom holds her arm out to take a selfie.

They snap a few, and both girls thank him profusely before going back to their table. Dean resumes eating without comment, but Cas stares at him. Dean glances up—probably after not hearing any smartass remarks—then looks over his shoulder.

“Ah, shit,” he breathes. He glances at his plate, then at Cas, before dropping the fry that was in his hand and heading over to the girls. Cas watches as he rests his hands on the arms of one of the girls who’s started tearing up, rubbing them comfortingly and talking quietly to her. She looks like she’s trying to pull herself together, but is failing miserably, so Dean envelops her in a hug and almost as if by instinct, she buries her face in his shoulder.

Dean just stands there, rubbing soothing circles into her back, muttering something into her ear. He keeps her in his embrace, still talking and consoling, until the girl finally pulls away herself. Dean stands at arm’s length, holding her shoulders and still talking to her. She wipes her cheek messily with her entire palm and finally manages a shaky smile.

When he sees that, Dean’s face softens and he squeezes her shoulder once more before heading back to their table. Cas stares at him, is straight gawking at this point, but he doesn’t care.

“What was that?”

Dean waves it off as he resumes his meal.

“No,” Cas says, jabbing a fork across the table at Dean. “You don’t get to pretend that didn’t happen; that girl acted like you were one of the Beatles.”

“She was having a hard time,” Dean finally says, keeping his eyes on his food. “She said she had had relationship issues around the same time the finale aired, and I, I don’t know, she said I helped her, I guess. Somehow."

Cas wrinkles his nose. “You helped her?”

“That’s what she said.”

“How the hell could _you_ have _helped_ her?”

Dean looks up at him flatly. “Gee, thanks.”

“Are you—you know what I mean; you’re just a—”

“I know,” Dean interrupts. “But who the hell am I to tell someone I’m not allowed to be able to make them feel better? If she took comfort in something I did or said, who am I to tell her she’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath, and his tense shoulders relax. “There aren’t a lot of perks that come with being a runner-up reality star,” he says quietly. “If somehow, some way making people feel better is one of ‘em, you bet your ass I’m going to take it.”

Cas wants to respond to that. He wants to say something snarky, something quick, something that Dean Winchester would say to him had the tables been turned. But he can’t. Instead, he focuses on his food and they eat in silence for a few minutes until Cas hears Dean drop his fork onto his now-empty plate. He looks at Cas.

“You want dessert?”  


Dean, as it turns out, is a big fan of pastries, and pies in particular. He treats the decision over which flavor to order like it’s life or death, ultimately ordering a slice of apple for dessert and cherry to bring home with him for tomorrow. 

Cas watches Dean smile sweetly at their waitress as she places a styrofoam takeout container on their table. “You’re a regular Dale Cooper, aren’t you,” he says.

Dean looks up from his pie and presses his fist to his chest before letting out a soft burp. “Who?”

Well, that settles it. Cas could never even _consider_ dating someone who didn’t know anything about _Twin Peaks_.

Not that he’d been considering dating Dean.

Just...if he had. Hypothetically.

And even _if_ he had, though, it’s still not a total lost cause; Cas could show it to him after taking him out to a nice dinner. After they get back to his apartment and engage in a makeout session that eventually turns into Dean sucking Cas off with that incredible mouth of his.

Yeah. After that.

“No one,” Cas says, shaking his head to rid himself of the image of the crown of Dean’s head moving slowly, methodically, of Dean glancing up at him through long eyelashes as his mouth moves around his dick. He tries to think of something different, but just ends up picturing Dean curled up on his couch, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, imitating Dale Cooper discussing the finer points of the town’s pie to his assistant, Diane, through his tape recorder.

And that just makes it even worse.

“Forget it.”

Dean looks at him, and Cas is able to maintain eye contact for a few seconds, but when a sliver of a grin appears on Dean’s lips, he looks away. He’s still looking away when their waitress brings their check over.

Keeping his eyes down, Cas reaches for the slip of paper, but Dean slaps his hand over it, dragging it towards him before Cas can even touch it. Cas glares at him. “Come on, don’t do this.”

“‘S on me.”

“No.”

“Least I can do, after putting you through the torture of spending the night with me.” He digs out his wallet and for a split second, a pang of guilt digs into Cas’ gut. As much as he hates to admit it, tonight wasn’t terrible. Pretty far from terrible, if he’s being completely honest.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Dean places two folded twenties onto the receipt and pins them all together with his empty beer bottle. He pockets his wallet and grins humorlessly at Cas. “You get the next one.”

Cas gapes at that, trying and failing to find the right words to respond. Would Dean really want to do this again? Does _he_ really want to do this again? Were the last twenty minutes enough to redeem the awkwardness and annoyance of the first two hours?

Dean snaps his fingers, and Cas’ eyes dart back to his. “Relax,” he says. “It was a joke. You know, things people _without_ sticks up their asses say.”

“I know what a joke is,” Cas says, Dean’s attitude once again overshadowing his gorgeous goddamn face.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Dean slides out of his chair and runs a hand through his hair. “Normally I’d walk my date back to their car,” he says slowly, “but I’m guessin’ that’ll get a big fat ‘no’ from you, huh?”

“I can do it myself. I _do_ have legs,” Cas answers, getting to his feet and shrugging into his jacket.

“I noticed.” Dean looks at Cas’ jeans for just a bit too long before glancing up back up at him. His lips quirk up in a half smile. “Have a good night, man.” He flashes Cas a quick wink and heads for the exit, leaving Cas to stare after him.

 

On the train back to his apartment, Cas swipes absently through his Instagram feed. He’d been expecting to feel a lot of things after his dinner with Dean—annoyance, frustration, relief—but disappointment hadn’t been one of them.

Dean had been exactly the snarky asshole Cas had been expecting, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t also noticed that Dean was kind. To the host, their waitress, the girls who asked him for a picture, and, if Cas is being honest, himself.

The couple in the seats behind him get up and exit the train at the next stop, and Cas glances back over his shoulder before switching over to the _Rose-Colored Glasses_ account. All four of them have access to the account to respond to comments, clean out spam, and post their own photos. Cas thumbs over to their notifications tab, where someone has tagged them in a new post.

Cas feels a lump form in his throat and grips his phone tighter when he sees the photo, the selfie the girls had snapped with Dean earlier that night. They’d used every _Bachelor_ hashtag and handle out there, which explains why they were tagged; despite their small following, Cas won’t kid himself into thinking he’s some kind of recognizable celebrity.

He taps on the photo and reads the caption the girl had written underneath.

 _Earlier tonight, I met @dwinchester67 at a restaurant. He was with a friend_ —Cas winces at being referred to as Dean’s friend— _but I couldn’t_ not _go up and talk to him. He was sweet, funny, and gracious (and just as hot in person, I swear), and I almost got out of it without crying. Actually, I technically DID get out of it without crying (I waited til I thought we were out of eyeshot, tyvm), but he saw that I was upset. And guys, HE CAME BACK OVER. Dean fucking Winchester came and checked on me, and I’m posting this from beyond the grave. It was such a small thing, and I’m sure he’s already forgotten about it, but it meant a fucking lot. He gave a shit, and took the time to make some random-ass girl he just met for .2 seconds feel better. He’s one of the good ones._

The girl’s post has over 100 likes, and Cas hates, _hates_ the fact that as he reads through the girl’s post and the dozen or so comments below it, he finds himself agreeing with them.

_He sounds like such a sweetheart omg, I’m so glad you got to meet him!!! <333 _

It _was_ sweet of him to check on her and make sure she was okay.

_Too precious for this world omfg Lisa doesn’t know what she’s missing_

The jury is still out on this, but Cas thinks they might have a point. _Might_. Maybe.

_godDAMN those eyes_

They _are_ nice, no matter how much Cas wants to convince himself otherwise.

_HIS BOWLEGS FCUK ME_

Cas’ eyes zero in on the unmistakable bow in Dean’s legs just barely visible in the photo, and Dean’s voice muttering, “I noticed,” about his own echoes in his head.

Fuck.

Cas doesn’t want this. Or, well, he never thought he’d want this. And he doesn’t know if it’s because of his sweetness or frankness or gorgeous eyes or crooked smile or sharp jawline or a combination of all that and more, but one thing’s for sure:

He _likes_ Dean Winchester.

He can just imagine how his friends will react upon hearing this new development, and the thought makes him want to curl up in the corner and continue his life as a hermit. Finger hovering over his phone’s screen, Cas studies the photo until the screen goes dim. By then, he’s made up his mind, taps it back to life, and swipes over to Dean’s profile.

Cas takes a breath, tries to shove down the nauseous feeling churning in his stomach, and hits the FOLLOW button.


	5. Chapter 5

Over the course of the next few days, Cas takes it upon himself to scan through the rest of Dean’s Instagram—on his laptop, of course, to avoid any other accidental “like” mishaps. He goes back far, long before Dean had been chosen as a contestant, and gets a glimpse into Dean’s life before he had shown up on TV.

There are several photos of him with friends, drinking together, at shows, lounging around a particularly nice living room. They're all colorful and vibrant, but the one Cas finds himself pausing at is in black and white.

It's a photo of a beautiful woman holding two small boys. She looks angelic, a small, closed-lipped smile that seems simple, but Cas can see all the pride, happiness, and contentment hidden behind it. The boys are smiling wide, and Cas can feel his lips quirking up in a small grin in spite of himself.

The photo has by far the most likes of his pre- _Bachelor_ days, and is captioned with a simple, “Miss you.”

_She loves you two so much, and would be so proud of you both._

_You’ve got your mother’s smile, Dean :)_

_ <33333 _

_Love you, bud. Stay strong._

The resemblance is obvious now that he’s looking for it, and Cas bites on the inside of his cheek. On the show, Dean had mentioned that his father died, but he’d never spoken of his mother.

His first thought is sarcastic, something along the lines of the fact that a sob story would get Dean more sympathy, more adoration, but he’s already made it clear that he’s not the person Cas had thought he was. No one would _voluntarily_ offer up information about their mother’s death to millions of people on national TV; in fact, when Cas thinks about it, he’s surprised Dean’s even still got the post up at all.

The little heart icon under the photo remains empty, and Cas lets his mouse hover over it. It’s an old photo, Dean would know he’d been doing some digging if he liked it, but a nagging voice at the back of his mind makes him want to click it, to show Dean that he’s there. Or something.

His phone starts buzzing on the coffee table and he glances at it, an incoming call from Charlie. He considers ignoring it, eyes darting back to Dean’s photo, but Charlie never calls if she can help it, so it must be important—or at least interesting.

He accepts the call and puts it on speaker before navigating over to his email. “What’s up?”

“Dean dropped out of _Bachelor in Paradise_ ,” she blurts out, and Cas’ fingers freeze over the keyboard.

“He _what_?”

“My place, half an hour.” She hangs up, and Cas stares down at his phone. Dean had dropped out? Why would he drop out of a show that would guarantee him more of his three favorite things, sex, booze, and screen time?

He quickly closes his laptop and shoves it off to the side, slipping into the closest jacket and pair of shoes he can find before grabbing his keys and phone.

On his way out the door, Cas opens Instagram on his phone and navigates to Dean’s page. Sure enough, the latest post is a stock photo of a storm occurring on a beach, complete with rain and lightning and crashing waves.

_Bummed to say there’s trouble in paradise, folks. Dropping out for this season, maybe next time._

Cas has to stop himself from liking that post, too.

 

“Okay, what do we think of this?”

They’re all crammed into Charlie’s tiny studio apartment, and Hannah has brought the emergency minisode to order. Cas is sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, still studying Dean’s post.

“What’s there _to_ think?” Billie asks.

“I hope everything’s okay,” Hannah says worriedly.

“That’s a pretty ominous way of announcing that you’ve met someone,” Cas says.

Charlie’s eyes shoot up to meet Cas’, and he startles. “You think he’s met someone?”

“I...why else would he drop out? Come on, free food, all the booze he can drink, and a summer surrounded by gorgeous men _and_ women? _Bachelor in Paradise_ is a show that was practically _made_ for people like Dean Winchester.”

“But it’s not like he gets _paid_ for it,” Hannah says. “What if there was a medical emergency or something that he had to pay for?”

Billie snaps her fingers. “ _Dancing with the Stars_ ,” she says. “It’s obvious.”

Charlie shakes her head. “Nah,” she says. “I bet you’re right, Cas. I bet he met someone, and he doesn’t want to screw it up. But whoever it is, maybe he doesn’t think he has a chance with them, and that’s why he picked the photo he did.”

Cas keeps his face neutral, but inside, his stomach flips. That couldn’t be—no, there’s no way Dean would be interested in _him_ —

_“Yeah. I noticed.”_

“That’s a lot of drama to inject into one photo, Charlie,” he says, trying to sound casual.

“Says the guy who thought of the idea in the first place,” she shoots back. “Look, there’s no way we’re gonna be able to know for sure why he decided to bail until he goes public, so the best we can do for now is trade theories. Which, in my opinion, is a hell of a lot more fun anyway.”

They spend the next half hour or so debating different ideas, but Cas only hears bits and pieces of them; his mind keeps going back to the night in the restaurant with Dean. No matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise, there’s a tiny part of him that keeps going back to it.

Dean likes him. He admitted it.

So why is it so hard to believe that he’d cancel his appearance on a show that’d make him no money on the off chance that Cas would agree to another date with him?

Because it’s bullshit.

Cas is barely out of Charlie’s apartment before he’s back on his phone, thumbing over to Dean’s Instagram account. Dean is still following him, and the _Bachelor in Paradise_ announcement is still sitting there, almost like it’s daring him to do something about it.

This doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself as he opens a new DM and types in Dean’s name, catching his lower lip between his teeth. He’s just killing time before his train arrives. That’s it.

_Novakastiel, 9:02pm: hello._

_dwinchester67, 9:14pm: well hey_

_dwinchester67, 9:14pm: slidin into those dms, i see_

Cas unconsciously grits his teeth together, and wonders for a split second if he’s letting his dick do a bit too much of the thinking here.

_Novakastiel, 9:17pm: I followed you last week._

_dwinchester67, 9:18pm: ya i noticed_

Cas’ brows furrow together at Dean’s response. _Novakastiel, 9:18pm: Then why didn’t you say anything?!_

There’s no reply for several minutes, and Cas tries to distract himself with some gossip articles about a random cooking show. His heart jumps when his phone finally buzzes again, but this time, it’s not from an Instagram notification, but a text message.

_Dean, 9:25pm: why didn’t you message me right after you followed me_

_Cas, 9:27pm: I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was a time limit on texts._

_Dean, 9:30pm: saucy_

_Dean, 9:32pm: what do u want_

Cas pauses at that, realizing that he doesn’t actually know. He types out and erases a couple of different replies before finally settling on one that sounds the least like he’d rehearsed it.

_Cas, 9:34pm: You said I could get the next one. So, I’d like to make plans for the next one._

_Dean, 9:35pm: you know that was a joke right_

_Cas, 9:35pm: Does that mean you’re not interested?_

_Dean, 9:37pm: ...no_

Cas grins down at his phone, picturing the way Dean must have paused, probably argued with himself before finally answering the way he did.

_Cas, 9:38pm: So, when are you free?_

  


Cas hadn’t been expecting Dean’s next reply to be “now,” for him to text the address to a bar nearby, for him to haphazardly transfer trains, and for the two of them to be splitting a plate of mozzarella sticks while tucking into their respective drinks a half hour later.

But sometimes those things just happen.

“What were you going to do tonight,” Cas asks, trying to stuff a string of gooey melted cheese into his mouth as gracefully as he can, “if I hadn’t texted you?”

Dean shrugs. “Cry myself to sleep in my loneliness, probably.” He glances up at Cas for a reaction and smirks when he doesn’t get one. “Finish the last season of _Dirk Gently_ and pass the fuck out. What about you, Mr. Suave and Debonair?”

He pronounces _debonair_ like _de-boner_ , and it makes Cas cringe. He’s not sure if he’s done it on purpose or not, and decides not to comment.

“We were recording an emergency episode of the podcast,” he says, “about you.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Why you left _Bachelor in Paradise_.”

He scoffs and leans back in his side of the booth. “Yeah. Definitely explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you asked me out. You just want dirt for your little show, don’t you?”

Cas coughs, choking on his beer, and presses a fist to his chest. _Had_ that been the reason? Well, maybe, but not for the reason Dean thinks. But how does he explain that without sounding like a total idiot?

He doesn’t, Cas decides. “That was part of it,” he admits slowly.

“Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but—”

“Will you let me finish?”

Dean looks at him curiously and gestures for him to continue, reaching for another mozzarella stick without breaking eye contact. Cas sighs and picks at the label on his bottle with his thumbnail.

“We were trying to think of reasons why you’d drop out of the show, and I thought that maybe you’d met someone.” Dean’s got a _good_ poker face, so Cas clears his throat and continues. “And that you didn’t want to, I don’t know, jeopardize that potential new relationship.”

There’s still no reaction, and Cas chuckles humorlessly. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Dean raises both hands in surrender. “Dude, I have no idea where the fuck you’re going with this, so yeah, you’re gonna have to finish it.”

“I sort of...for some reason, kind of thought that new relationship could have been with me.”

It seems like the entire bar has gone silent around them, Cas’ heartbeat pounding in his ears as Dean purses his lips and considers the comment. He takes another drink and clears his throat.

“Wanna hear something funny?”

“I...all right.”

That shit-eating grin is back in place as he says, “I knew exactly where you were going with that.”

Cas rolls his eyes and digs into his pocket for his wallet. “You know what, I don’t even know why I bothered—”

“Wanna hear something even funnier?”

Cas glares at him, but before he can respond, Dean continues, “You were right.”

“I...really?”

Dean grins fondly. “You’re cute when you’re shocked.”

Cas narrows his eyes, but relaxes back into the booth. “You’re lying.”

“Then why haven’t you hauled ass outta here yet?” Dean motions to their waiter for two more beers, and finishes his off. “It was a combination of a lot of things,” he continues, “but I’d be lyin’ if I said you weren’t one of ‘em.”

“I...there was no interest after our first date.”

“But there _was_ a spark. And you followed me a few hours later.” He shrugs. “'m a bit of a hopeless romantic sometimes.”

This is the last thing Cas wants to ask, the last way he wants to feel in front of Dean is vulnerable, but he has to know. Years of being asked out as a dare or a joke have him on edge, and he clenches his fists in his lap to stop them from starting to tremble.

“Why did you give me your number?”

“Wanted to ask you out.”

“But...why?”

Dean tilts his head slightly to one side in a habit that Cas realizes he really fucking likes. “Uh, have you _seen_ you?”

Cas can feel his cheeks go hot in a matter of seconds, and Dean grins and shakes his head. “Sellin’ yourself short, there, champ. And I’ll tell ya, you’re _lucky_ you look the way you do.”

It’s easy to read between the lines of Dean’s statement, and just like that, Cas is back on the defensive. Dean Winchester of all people is accusing him of being a dick; he almost wants to laugh. Hell, he’s _about_ to when he thinks back to his acidic tones in each and every one of their conversations, the way Dean had tried to be at least half-decent, but Cas had already made up his mind, refusing to hear anything contrary to the picture of Dean he’d created in his head.

Cas knows how reality TV works, how much they twist and alter the truth for ratings and artificial drama, but he had been convinced, was _sure_ that they’d done a perfect job of portraying Dean, that he’d been the exception to the rule. Instead, he feels like he’s sitting across from someone he’s never met before, and suddenly, it hits him.

He hasn’t.

He fucking hasn’t met Dean before.

Cas sighs dejectedly and drags a hand down his face. He tries to be open-minded, prides himself on giving people the benefit of the doubt, how could he have been so _stupid_?

“I’ve been a bit of an asshole,” he says apologetically.

Dean chuckles but waves him off, starting in on his next drink. “You’ve seen the show, you know I’ve dealt with worse.”

Cas knows he’s not exaggerating. There had been several men in the mansion who could’ve been considered assholes, but Cas knows Dean’s referring to one incident in particular, the one between him and Alastair that he’d alluded to during their first dinner. It’d been the subject of tabloids and _Hollywood Reporter_ segments for weeks. It still makes Cas slightly queasy to think about, and although it’s a small comfort to know that Dean doesn’t think _that_ lowly of him, it’s not a total cure-all.

“Still,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Consider your dinner with me penance.”

Cas clears his throat. “I’d like to make it up to you,” he says. “Make up for lost time.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re sure this has nothing to do with getting dirt for your show.”

“Nothing.”

His lips quirk up in that stupid goddamn smile—that Cas now thinks he could grow to like, eventually—and he holds his glass up in a toast, waiting for Cas to clink his against it. “To new beginnings, then.”


	6. Chapter 6

**_Season 29, episode 3, group date 1_ **

“Hi, guys!” Lisa says cheerfully as several of the guys jog up to her in the middle of a football field, roped off specifically for the show. She’s standing next to Chuck in smart workout gear, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. “Welcome to the first group date of the season.”

The guys clap and whoop, a few of them jumping up and down to get themselves psyched.

_“I hope it’s nothing too strenuous,” Andy says. He glances down at his arm and flexes his nonexistent biceps for the camera. “I’m not exactly what you’d call athletic. I had to borrow these workout clothes from Victor.”_

“Today’s date is all about responsibility, and seeing how you do thinking on your toes.” She grins at them all, and winks in the sunlight. “I’ve got a busy life, and I want my man to be able to keep up with me, and what better way to weed out the weak than with an obstacle course!”

While most of the bachelors erupt in more cheers and whoops, a few look a bit more stressed than they’d like to admit.

 _“Yeah, uh, sports weren’t exactly my thing,”_ _Benny says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly._

_Kevin beams at the camera. “I’ve been training to be a stuntman for the past few months,” he says excitedly, “so this is right up my alley. Bring. It. On.”_

_Balthazar glances uneasily back and forth. “Did we, uh, have to sign an insurance waiver or something?”_

Lisa laughs at their myriad reactions, and gestures behind her toward the course, which spans the entirety of the field. “We’ve put together a course worthy of the truest of husbands, where you’ll have to complete some common household tasks. Sounds easy, right?”

“Too easy!” Victor shouts jokingly. “Give us the catch.”

Lisa grins mischievously at him. “You’re good, Victor. There _is_ a catch. As you all know, I have a son, but whoever I decide to spend the rest of my life with, I’d like to build a family with him, too. Obviously, it’s important to me that my future husband—and our children’s future dad—can, well, handle his [bleep]. Which is why you won’t be doing this alone.”

With that, several PAs jog toward the stunned group of men, handing out creepily realistic baby dolls. Some are crying, and half the men handle them like they’re poisonous snakes. Kevin holds his baby at arm’s length, staring at it as it cries; Victor tries rocking his; Benny tucks his up against his chest, cradling it and resting its head against his shoulder like a pro. Andy stares at him, and Benny grins.

_“I got a lot of little nieces and nephews,” Benny says, bouncing the baby doll idly in his arms. “I know a thing or two.”_

_Dean looks from the camera to the baby doll in his arms, then back again. He’s got a slightly bemused look on his face as he holds the baby up close to his face. “Kid’s got my eyes.”_

Chuck claps his hands together to get the attention back on him. “You’ll have to complete a series of household challenges, starting with dressing your baby,” he says, gesturing toward the changing table stations rife with doll clothes. “Then, with babies in tow—safely, of course!” He laughs, and a few of the men toss a couple of pity chuckles his way. “—you’ll unclog a drain, vacuum up a mess, search through dirty laundry for a fake wedding ring, and set the table for your romantic dinner with Lisa. Whoever can get this done first will get the chance to spend the evening on a one-on-one date with Lisa!

“Is everyone ready?”

Chuck barely gives the men ten seconds to get their bearings before blaring a loud air horn, and the race begins.

The next few moments are a frenzy of activity as the men race to the changing stations, struggling to clothe their baby dolls and get them into baby bjorns and strapped onto their chests as quickly as possible. Dean, Kevin, and Gordon take the lead, all of them peeking over the babies strapped to their chests as they hustle to the next obstacle, vacuuming a long patch of grass. Dean stumbles as his vacuum catches on a rock, and just as he’s about to faceplant, flips himself onto his back in an attempt to protect his small plastic son.

The camera catches his muttered profanity as the back of his head smacks against the ground, hand cupped protectively over the baby’s, legs tangled in the vacuum’s rogue power cord, and although he’s effectively eliminated himself from the competition, Lisa’s still looking at him with hearts in her eyes.

“Good job, Dean!” she shouts from across the yard. “Way to keep that baby safe!”

Dean looks up and grins, flashing her a thumbs up as he gets unsteadily to his feet. Her attention quickly shifts back to Kevin and Gordon, who are neck-and-neck, throwing tattered remnants of shirts and pants aside as they dig furiously for the ring.

Benny has stopped to readjust the baby bjorn for his doll and Andy is gaining on Kevin and Gordon when Gordon tosses a particularly rancid sheet at Kevin’s face.

“What the hell—” Kevin flails around the sheet as it drapes over him, struggling to paw it away, and Gordon uses those precious few seconds to dig past several tube socks and boxers before emerging with a gaudy plastic ring.

“Cheater!” Kevin yells as Gordon sprints toward the tiny dinner table. “Chuck, he cheated!”

Chuck pretends not to have heard him, lost in the excitement of competition, and grips Lisa’s arm when Gordon overshoots one of the table’s chairs and grabs its back, slowing himself down and swinging himself back into it. He quickly arranges the table into some semblance of a nice-looking dinner scene, and rests the ring against a small bouquet of flowers before raising his hand.

“Done!” he shouts, shoulders heaving. Chuck and Lisa hurry over to inspect his work, and after a few seconds, Chuck grabs Gordon’s wrist and holds it high in the air in victory.

“We have a winner!” Chuck shouts, and Gordon beams, shoulders heaving. Lisa comes over and drapes her arms around his neck before giving him a congratulatory kiss.

_“It feels great,” Gordon says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and squirting some water into his mouth. “I got to show Lisa what I’m about, what she’ll get when she’s with me, all while kicking the asses of these other schmucks in the process. What’s not to love?”_

_Kevin pouts, only uncrossing his arms to take a long drink of water. “It’s all rigged, man,” he says. “All rigged against the little guys.”_

_Dean and Benny are standing next to each other, their babies still strapped to their chests. The edges of a white bandage are poking out from the back of Dean’s head, but he seems otherwise unfazed from his earlier fall._

_“We might not’ve won, but our kids became best friends today,” Benny says, waving his doll’s hand to the camera._

_“So, I mean, who’re the real winners here?” Dean adds with a grin. “We’re gettin’ ‘em matchin’ onesies next week.”_  


 

* * *

 

“If I told you guys something,” Cas says slowly, swirling his straw around his drink, “would you promise to keep it out of the show?” 

He, Hannah, Charlie, and Billie are at their favorite restaurant one night after work for one of their regular non-recorded get-togethers. When they had first started _Rose-Colored Glasses_ , Billie had been the one to make it clear that she didn’t want their friendships and conversations to exist only to be recorded; if they were going to make a podcast, they needed to carve out time to just talk like regular friends, too.

As much as he hated to admit it, Cas felt like things with Dean were...not going somewhere, exactly, but not _not_ going somewhere, either. Dean makes him laugh and opens doors for him and gets excited about things Cas loves, even though Cas is almost certain he has no idea what they are. They’re not big things, but they’re all things Cas had never really experienced in a relationship before—at least not one where his significant other had had intentions other than a quick fling. Something about Dean feels different, and it felt wrong of him to leave his best friends in the dark any longer.

“Ooh, a ‘sclusie!” Charlie squeals, pulling her chair up closer to their table and resting her chin in her hands. “Dish.”

“You heard her,” Billie says when Cas glances at her and Hannah for confirmation, and he takes a breath, watching as a few drops of condensation race down his glass.

“I sort of met someone.”

“Is he here?” Billie asks.

“Do we know him?” Hannah asks.

“Is it Dean?”

All three of them turn to stare at Charlie, who can’t keep a straight face for more than a second after being on the receiving end of their looks of disbelief. “Relax, guys, obviously a joke. Come on.” She rolls her eyes and pops a nacho into her mouth. “What’s his name, Cas?”

 _Like a Band-Aid. Just do it fast._ “Dean.”

Charlie chuckles humorlessly. “Yeah, okay, very funny. Real name, please. I’ve got internet creeping to do, make sure he’s good enough for you.”

Cas glances down at his drink, and when he looks back up, he can’t—or won’t, he’s not sure which—hide the faint traces of a smile playing on his lips.

“Dean,” he repeats.

“ _The_ De—” Charlie starts, and Cas nods.

“You’re kidding me,” Billie says.

He shakes his head.

“I thought you—” Hannah begins.

“I did, too,” Cas says.

Slowly, the fact that he’s dating Dean Winchester starts to dawn on his friends: Hannah covers her mouth with both hands, eyes bright and happy like she’s about to cry; Billie’s looking at him with a knowing smirk; Charlie’s flagging down their waitress for celebratory shots.

“So,” she says, turning back to them once she’s finished placing the order, “start from the beginning."

Twenty minutes later, and Cas has just finished recapping all the ways he thought he hated Dean; he spends the next twenty-four disproving each one, and the next thirty-two describing the Dean he didn’t think existed.

“Christ,” Billie says with a laugh, raising her glass before taking a drink. “Lisa really did miss the boat with him, didn’t she?”

“Who cares about her? Her loss is our Cas’ gain!” Hannah says excitedly, her eyes shining and cheeks flushed. She’s only had two glasses of wine in addition to Charlie’s shot, but she lives her life in a perpetual state of excitement for her friends, and alcohol only enhances that, so Cas is waiting for her to inevitably throw herself across the table and envelop him in a hug. “He sounds perfect, Cas, I’m so happy for you!”

Cas smiles at her, and out of the corner of his eyes, catches a glimpse of Charlie, who looks like she’s about to say something, as well. Before she can, though, he raises a finger and intervenes. “We’re not talking about this on the show.”

Her face falls, and she looks like she’s about to argue, but decides otherwise at the last second. “Fair.”

He hesitates. “Really?” he asks in unison with Billie and Hannah.

“Duh, dude. It’s your relationship. He might’ve signed up for a life in the limelight for the foreseeable future, but you didn’t. I’m assuming you told us as friends, not co-hosts, correct?”

“...Yes.”

“Exactly. We’re not exactly hurting for rankings right now, but even if we were, that’s still no reason to turn _Rose-Colored Glasses_ into the goddamn _Cas Novak Show_.”

Cas softens. His friends’ acceptance of his desire to keep things private had been the last thing he’d expected, and for Charlie to offer to do so freely reminds him of why they’re all so close in the first place. “Thank you,” he says.

“Obviously.” She winks and smirks at him. “Doesn’t mean we can’t hint every so often, though. Super subtle.”

* * *

 

When Cas invites Dean over to his apartment for a movie, he’d been expecting Oliver to be cute, maybe act as a conversation starter for the first few minutes, but the last thing he’d been ready for was to have to deal with the very real possibility that Dean might actually like his cat more than him. 

“Oh, would you look who it is,” Dean says the moment Cas unlocks the apartment door, dropping to his knees almost immediately as Oliver trots forward and into his arms. “The cat, the myth, the legend!” He scoops Oliver up and straightens, nuzzling the kitten against his cheek. “You’re even cuter in person, you know that? Your daddy’s photos do you _no_ justice.” Oliver purrs contentedly, making no attempt whatsoever to leave Dean’s arms.

 

Cas stares at them in dismay. “You’re not even that excited for me when I get home,” he says to Oliver accusingly. Dean smirks, stroking his fingers gently between the kitten’s ears.

“What can I say? Cats dig me,” he says, touching his nose to Oliver’s in a move so endearing that it makes Cas want to throw him up against the wall and fuck him then and there. Instead, though, he just stands there, watching as Dean coos at Oliver softly before releasing the kitten to continue his wandering around the apartment.

“Not bad,” Dean says, taking in Cas’ sparse decorations and clean living space. “Just as uniform as I expected, honestly.”

“Uniform?” Cas repeats.

Dean chuckles and drops onto the couch, propping his legs up onto the coffee table and crossing them at the ankles before leaning back with his hands laced behind his head. “Yeah,” he says. “Place for everything, everything in its place.”

“I like to keep things organized,” Cas says stiffly, taking a seat next to Dean on the couch. “Forgive me for not wanting to live in the equivalent of a college frat house.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “They’re underrated, if you ask me.” He grabs the remote off the coffee table and turns on the TV, clicking over to Cas’ DVR. “So, what’re we feeling,” he says, flipping through Cas’ mass of recorded TV shows and movies, “horror? Rom-com? Sci-fi?”

Cas watches absently as Dean scrolls through the list, and his eyes dart down to where the remote is headed next. His eyes widen, then, and he tries to grab the remote from Dean. “Uh, how about I surprise you?”

“How about no?” Dean moves smoothly, holding the remote far out of Cas’ reach with the practiced ease of an older sibling who’s mastered the technique of annoying their younger sibling with the exact motion. He clicks on the _Bachelorette_ listing, and Cas’ heart is in his throat as he watches Dean’s eyes for any sort of reaction as he takes in the massive archive of episodes.

“Oh, so _this_ is where all the mess is, huh?” he finally asks teasingly. “Dude, the season ended months ago. What do you still have these saved for?”

“Research,” Cas answers too quickly. “For the podcast.”

Dean looks at him flatly. “Research.”

“Yes.”

“For the podcast episodes that aired months ago.”

Cas hesitates. “Y-yes.”

Dean’s mouth quirks up in a little half-smile, and he shakes his head slowly. Cas finds himself zeroing in on Dean’s mouth, imagining what those lips would feel like pressed against his own, his neck, his chest, everywhere.

“You just can’t get enough of me, can you,” he says. It’s meant to be a joke, but the closer Dean leans in, the less funny Cas finds it. Dean’s eyes had originally been focused on Cas’ lips, but he flicks them up to lock in with Cas’ own, and it’s all Cas can do not to grab him by the back of the neck and pull him close.

Luckily for him, Dean takes care of that. He works fast, pressing Cas up against the back of the couch and straddling his lap. Dean’s hands are rough and calloused against Cas’ neck and cheeks, and he leans into them as they kiss, frantic and messy and fucking perfect.

Cas drops his own hands to Dean’s hips and pulls him close, closing what little space is left between them as he feels Dean’s hand fist in his hair. There’s a spark of electricity wherever Dean goes, a low heat building in Cas’ gut at every touch. He catches Dean’s bottom lip with his teeth and smiles when he hears Dean let out a surprised little yelp.

Spurred on by Cas’ small gesture of permission, Dean changes course and starts pressing kisses to Cas’ neck now, nudging Cas’ jaw with his nose to signal for Cas to give him better access. Cas is about to lean back when he feels Dean nip the sensitive skin of his neck, and startles against the couch. Dean huffs out a laugh, but doesn’t let that deter him from continuing. Cas sighs happily and lets his head drop over the back of the couch, grinning when he feels the stiffness in Dean’s pants as he pulls him closer again.

They spend the next few minutes that way, exploring each other. Cas can’t get enough of the way Dean’s hips feel under his hands, his tongue in his mouth, the way Dean tangles his fingers in his hair as he kisses him hard.

Somehow, they eventually manage to maneuver themselves to a lying position on the couch, with Dean on his back now and Cas straddling his hips, looking down at him.

“Not bad for someone who hates me,” Dean says. He reaches up for a fistful of Cas’ shirt and tugs Cas gently down toward him, cupping the back of his head with his free hand until their lips are pressed together.

Cas’ eyes flutter closed, and he rests his hand on Dean’s chest as they kiss, failing miserably at ignoring Dean’s dick straining against the denim of his jeans. When he opens his eyes again, Dean’s are already looking up at him, that stupid grin firmly locked in place and an infatuated gleam in his eye.

“Bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The group date obstacle course I wrote about in this chapter is based on a real Bachelorette group date, which [is ready and waiting for your viewing pleasure!](https://abc.go.com/shows/the-bachelorette/video/most-recent/VDKA3863835) (CW: baby poop, ridiculous antics, cringe-worthy individuals)


	7. Chapter 7

**_Season 29, episode 5, one-on-one date 3_ **

The last date had been a group one, and only three men hadn’t been invited: Dean, Alastair, and Kevin. The only date left for the week is a one-on-one, meaning that two unlucky bastards would only have a few minutes at tomorrow night’s cocktail party to try and convince Lisa they’re worth keeping around.

Needless to say, tensions are a little high.

“I’m sure she wants to get to know everyone,” Victor says. “It’s just limited time. I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything by who she chooses.”

“Easy for you to say,” Alastair growls, “with that stupid rose on your stupid [bleeping] shirt already.”

Victor glances down at his shirt: after a particularly sentimental one-on-one earlier in the week, Lisa had given him a rose, effectively marking him safe from elimination during that week’s rose ceremony.

“Calm down, Al,” Zachariah says, pressing a hand to his friend’s chest. “Take a breath, have a drink. You’ll have your time.”

Alastair shakes his head. “I’ll calm down when this becomes a fair fight. Everyone’s got something going for them. All the bets are hedged against me, Lisa’s not getting any time to see the _real_ me.”

Dean rolls his eyes in the background of the shot and chuckles. “Sure is a shame Lisa can’t see the five-star personality we’re treated to every day,” he says under his breath.

Alastair whips around and glares at Dean. “Do you have something to say to me, Winchester?”

“Believe I just did.”

Alastair opens his mouth to retort, but a knock on the door interrupts him—the latest date card has arrived. Kevin jumps to his feet and hurries to the door, grabbing the dainty cream-colored card off the ground and walking back into the living room, waving it at his fellow bachelors like a battle flag.

“Date card!” he announces, trying to stop his voice from trembling as he plasters on a grin to try and hide his nerves. His fingers fumble for the envelope’s adhesive, but before he can open it, Alastair snatches it out of his hands.

“Give me that, Tran,” he hisses. He tears open the envelope in one fluid motion and pulls out the tiny card, eyes scanning it expectantly before going dark.

“Dean.” Alastair’s lips curl around the name and he looks like he’s just sucked on a lemon. “Where would you like to go for our date? I’m flexible. -Lisa.”

The living room erupts in whoops as several of Dean’s fellow bachelors clap him on the back with a mixture of excitement and jealousy. Even Kevin looks pleased, if only because Alastair’s not the one going on the date. Alastair drops the card to the glass coffee table and stalks off without a word, Raphael and Zachariah following close behind.

“Get it, brother,” Benny says, elbowing his friend in the ribs with a toothy grin. “Damn.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and purses his lips, pleased with himself. He gets to his feet and salutes the other contestants.

“I’ll bid y’all adieu, gentlemen. Don’t have too much fun without me,” he says with a wink.

_“Am I excited to go on a one-on-one with Lisa? Hell, yeah, obviously. I’m stoked,” Dean says in a voiceover as he exits the mansion and starts the chauffeured drive to wherever he’s expected to meet Lisa. The camera pans over to him looking out the window at the Pacific Coast Highway, then back into the town car as he throws his feet up on the seat across from him, crossing them at the ankles._

_He relaxes for a few minutes, and the voiceover continues. “Would I be lying if I said it wasn’t an added bonus that I got to piss Alastair off in the process? Yeah. Feel bad for Kevin, though. But he’s a good kid, Lisa’ll see that.”_

_Soon after they turn a bend, he leans forward and taps on the tinted glass separating him and the driver._

_“Hey, man, can I give this thing a spin?”_

_A pause, then, “Who gives a [bleep] about insurance?”_

 

The car eventually pulls up to the front of a trendy yoga studio, where Lisa is waiting for Dean outside, already dressed in sporty workout gear, two rolled up yoga mats slung over her shoulder. Dean lets out a low whistle as he opens the door and pulls her into a hug immediately, cupping her head underneath her ponytail as he leans her back for a kiss. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he says. “What’re we doing today?”

“Take a guess,” she says with a wink, pressing one of the yoga mats to his chest. Dean stares down at it, a bit dismayed, and Lisa pecks a quick kiss on his cheek before bouncing up on the balls of her feet a few times. “They have clothes for you to change into upstairs. I’ll meet you in there!”

Fifteen minutes later, Dean’s in a tank top and shorts and trying to hide as much of himself behind his yoga mat as possible. Lisa is waiting for him in the lobby, and her face lights up when she sees him.

“Are you nervous?” she asks.

“I don’t really, uh, do shorts,” he mumbles, and she laughs, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the studio.

“Well, you look great,” she says, smacking him lightly on the ass just enough to make his cheeks go a shade darker.

His fumble is short-lived; he recovers quickly with a smooth, “I’m not the only one,” and follows her into the room, where the class is already in progress. He has to hide how his jaw almost drops open at the superhuman contortionist movements everyone is so casually pulling off around them, but Lisa doesn’t seem to be phased, so he tries not to be, either.

“I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing,” Dean says casually as they unroll their mats.

“It is,” Lisa tells him, “but it’s also exercise for a reason. Just wait until corpse pose, then you’ll be fine.”

Dean freezes and looks up at her. “Wait until what now?”

Lisa laughs. “Trust me,” she says, “you’ll love it.”

Dean struggles through the class, trying and failing to keep up and contort his body into different poses and stretches while not toppling over. Lisa’s movements are smooth and graceful and balanced, and more often than not, she’s over on Dean’s mat, adjusting his posture, aligning his hips, and, at Dean’s insistence, sneaking in a few encouragement kisses.

By the time they get to savasana, otherwise known as the long-awaited corpse pose, Dean is staring up at the ceiling, trying to even out his breathing. Lisa reaches across her mat and squeezes his hand.

“Thanks,” she says quietly.

“For what?”

“For trying this. For being you.”

Dean grins and props himself up on his elbows, craning his neck and catching Lisa’s lips in a kiss. They’re oblivious to the class continuing around them, and don’t separate until the other yogis have started rolling up their mats and leaving the studio.

_“She’s...bendy,” Dean says with a grin. “And a great kisser, but that’s old news. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair and shrugs, looking up at the camera with a mix of helplessness and sheepishness in his eyes. “She’s one of the good ones.”_

_Lisa beams at the camera, her cheeks flushed. “No, he didn’t. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? He really said that?” She presses her knuckles to her mouth in an effort to hide her smile. “He really said that.”_

“I’m not going to be able to move for a week,” Dean says as they roll up their mats and leave the studio. He arches his back until he gets it to crack with a satisfied sigh.

“Maybe I can help with that,” Lisa says from behind him, standing on her toes to wrap her arms over his shoulders. Dean grins and kisses the top of her hand as it comes to rest on his chest.

“I’m sure you can,” he says, “but we probably have to get back to the mansion now, huh? I know the other guys are dyin’ to spend some time with you.”

Lisa smiles at him and takes his hand. “One more thing,” she says, leading him out of the studio toward a small vintage theatre a few blocks away. The marquee is framed with bright blinking bulbs and DEAN + LISA = TRUE LOVE in thick black lettering, and Lisa plants a kiss on Dean’s cheek when they enter.

The place had looked deserted from the outside, but Dean and Lisa are immediately greeted by a wave of whoops and cheers the second they enter the main hall. It’s packed with people, cell phones trained on the couple as a band starts crooning a slow, romantic country song on the stage at the end of the hall.

Lisa looks thrilled, eyes shining with excitement, and she grabs Dean’s hand, leading him to the center of the hall. “Do you know Twigs and Twine?” she shouts over the crowd, gesturing up toward the band on the stage.

“Do I!”

Dean had meant for it to sound excited, but it came out as more of a question, and no amount of editing could disguise the way his head snapped back questioningly toward the producers, as if he was really asking if he should know them. He flashes Lisa a confident smile and they snake their way through to the middle of the crowd and start dancing slowly together. The band croons about love at first sight while the audience members record everything and snap photos destined for social media, and Dean tucks a strand of Lisa’s hair behind her ear.

She beams up at him, and he dips her back, kissing her long and deep to the cheers of the crowd.

 _“It was great. I can’t dance worth [bleep], but just being with Lisa, I felt like I could do—” Dean sighs, “—anything, you know? And having it all soundtracked by—” He glances off-camera for a split second too long, “—uh, Twin—_ Twigs, _Twigs and Twine just made it even better. Love those guys. A private concert from a great band with the girl of my dreams. Doesn’t get much better than that.”_

_Someone asks a question off-camera, and Dean’s eyes light up. “[Bleep], yes,” he says, holding his hand out. A PA hands him a freshly poured whiskey, and Dean grins sheepishly at the camera. “Nerves,” he says by way of apology, before downing the whole thing in one long gulp._

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to Bova’s,” Dean says. He’s leading Cas down one of the narrow, cobblestone streets of the North End, and clearly judging Cas’ life choices, or lack thereof.

Their first night together had been, well, a bit of a night—Cas _knew_ he had saved all those _Bachelorette_ episodes for a reason. It hadn’t taken long for Dean to figure out Cas’ biggest turn-ons, and if Cas is being honest, he thinks he did a pretty good job keeping Dean on his toes, as well.

And now Cas is at risk of throwing that all away, all because he’s never been to a stupid bakery.

Cas sighs. “I never had any need to.”

Dean laughs in disbelief. “Never had any need to check out the best goddamn bakery in the city,” he says. “Yeah, okay. How long have you been living here again?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Long enough to find my own favorite bakeries, thank you very much.”

“You hurt me, Cas,” Dean says, voice deep and solemn as he presses his palm to his heart. “Right here.”

After a few more minutes of walking, Dean takes some quick sidesteps in front of him and reaches for a tiny door tucked into a corner. He holds it open for Cas, and Cas is momentarily relieved that he won’t have to listen to Dean complain about his lack of cannoli culture anymore, but the second he steps inside Bova’s and smells all the pastries, he realizes that Dean may be onto something.

Judging from his Cheshire-cat grin, Dean recognizes Cas’ look all too well. He elbows Cas in the side and says, “I’ll order for ya,” leaving him to take in the rows of cakes, cookies, and breads that all smell freshly baked, even at nine at night.

Cas is considering a particularly tempting cluster of Italian cookies when Dean shoves a small white bag into his hands. “Moment of truth,” he says. “Let’s go.”

They’re barely outside before Dean’s halfway through his own cannoli, and Cas takes extra care unwrapping his own, smirking at the way Dean stares at him impatiently, not taking his eyes off him until he takes his first bite.

“So?” Dean says, the eagerness in his voice betraying his casual stance. “Do you love it, or do you _love_ it?”

Cas could eat these for the rest of his life. He’s never had a cannoli so goddamn good, and as they pass Mike’s Pastry, he’s struck with an overwhelming sense of pity for all those waiting in line for subpar cannolis. Something about Dean’s smugness, though, the way he was already absolutely sure that Cas would love them, gives him pause, and he decides to mess with him a little.

“They’re not bad,” he says, and Dean recoils as if he’s been shot.

“Not bad?” he asks. “Not _bad_? Yeah, and the Sistine Chapel isn’t a work of goddamn art, Cas. Christ.”

“How can you be seen with me,” Cas says sarcastically, and Dean chuckles.

“You’re lucky you’re so goddamn cute, that’s how.” Cas feels Dean’s arm snake around his hips and pull him close; he turns just in time for Dean to kiss him. Dean’s mouth is sweet, the faint tang of ricotta still present on his tongue, and Cas closes his eyes.

“ _Grazie_ ,” he says faintly.

 

It’s a perfect night in the city, but Cas is fairly certain he’d be thinking the same thing even if it was ten degrees outside; that’s how much the warmth in his chest is spurring him on. He and Dean walk with their hands entwined, and they just talk. By the time they’ve arrived at the public gardens, their cannolis are long gone, and Dean leads them toward a bench to sit down.

“The city’s so peaceful at night,” Cas says. Almost immediately afterwards, a squad of police cruisers, sirens wailing, flies past them, and Dean gives him a sideways glance.

“You were saying?”

Cas shrugs, leaning against Dean’s shoulder as he feels Dean’s arm wrap across him. “You know, you still haven’t told me.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you even want to be on the show in the first place?”

“Love me some reality TV. Just like you.” Cas just barely catches the, “And whorin’ myself out on it,” he tags onto the end. The phrase is oddly specific, and it only takes him a moment to place it, as part of an episode review posted on a trashy reality TV site by a blogger who had been particularly brutal during fantasy suites. Cas is surprised that Dean had even gotten wind of it; the blogger didn’t have more than a few hundred followers, and Dean doesn’t strike Cas as someone who’d Google himself.

“You know that’s not true.”

Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Must be. ‘S on the internet.”

Dean’s not looking at him, but Cas can tell by the way his eyes have gone dark that as much as he’d tried to hide it behind nonchalance and charm, he’d taken the comment to heart. He reaches up and gently tilts Dean’s head toward him so that they’re facing each other, and smiles. “Do you need me to remind you of how wonderful you are, Dean Winchester?”

Dean hates that, being told that he’s a good person, he says it makes him feel awkward and embarrassed, but it’s quickly become one of Cas’ favorite pastimes. The faint blush on Dean’s cheeks and the way he grins shyly as he shoves Cas’ hand away makes it worth it, and he smiles, trying to time his heartbeat with Dean’s as he rests his head back against his chest.

“You can get a lot of money if you win,” he says. “Figured it was worth a shot. Sam and I’ve both got student loans, and I’d get all the free booze I could drink. Plus, can you imagine if I told my future kids their folks met on a fucking reality show?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Incredible. Plus, I mean, it’s a hell of an ego boost.”

Cas hesitates, not entirely sure if he wants to know the answer to his next question. “Would you do it again? Go on the show?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Even with the same outcome?”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line as he considers the question. “Yep.”

“Why?”

The few seconds Dean takes to answer feel like ages, and he has to stop himself from flinching every time Dean cards his fingers through his hair. “Could have something to do with this certain podcast host I ended up meeting.”

The anxiety curling deep in Cas’ stomach starts to relax at that, and Cas lets out a slow breath. He rests his hand on Dean’s leg, toying with a small rip in the denim at his knee. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“What?”

“Just—” Cas waves his hand vaguely, “—you.”

Dean chuckles. “Considering our first meeting, that somehow doesn’t surprise me.”

Guilt creeps up in Cas’ gut at the memory, and he bites the inside of his cheek. “I know I’ve already apologized, but I’d still like to—”

“If I was still pissed about that, there’s no way I’d be sitting here with you right now.”

“I know, but I—”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to catch Cas’ jaw in his hand. “Hey.” He angles it toward him, his fingers warm and gentle on Cas’ skin. “It’s forgotten.” Dean leans forward and kisses Cas, his movements long and slow and deliberate, and Cas relaxes into his touch, linking his hands together loosely behind Dean’s neck.

It’s an odd feeling, kissing so deeply in such a public place, but being in Dean’s arms makes Cas feel safe. He’s vaguely aware of Dean’s tongue edging into his mouth, his thumb running along his jawline as gingerly as if he were tracing a bruise, and he has to will himself to keep it together.

Eventually, Dean breaks the kiss and grins at Cas, who hopes he doesn’t look as desperate, enamored, and fucking turned on as he feels. “You believe me now?”

Cas is about to nod, but instead, he averts his eyes, trying to look pensive. “I might need some more convincing.”

“Some more convincing.”

“Yes.”

Dean takes his time leaning in closer, his eyes flickering from Cas’ own to his lips and back. The warmth of Dean’s breath sends a chill down his spine, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting in anticipation of what’s coming. Something he quickly recognizes as the tip of Dean’s nose gently taps against his own, and then Dean drops a quick kiss there, as well, and Cas just about dies.

“Dean,” he breathes, waiting for the rest. When he doesn’t feel anything after a few seconds, though, he hesitantly cracks one eye open to see Dean smirking at him.

“No more convincing,” he says. “You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

Cas stares at him, feeling more betrayed than he probably has the right to feel, and he can tell Dean’s working hard not to laugh. Cas narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Answer a question instead, then,” he says, sounding like a petulant elementary schooler.

“Fine,” Dean says, imitating his voice perfectly.

“When did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That Lisa wasn’t the one for you.”

Dean purses his lips, then shakes his head. “Fuck you.”

“What?” Cas asks with a laugh. “It’s a simple question.”

“Gonna make me sound like a goddamn sap.”

Cas leans forward and taps a finger on Dean’s nose, causing him to go slightly cross-eyed as he follows the motion before dropping a quick kiss there, as well. “I don’t mind that.”

Dean swats his hand away and shifts uncomfortably, but Cas is pleased by the slight flush he can see building up on Dean’s cheeks. “When I met you.”

And, well, Cas hadn’t been expecting that. “I, you, what?”

“I mean, not the _second_ I met you, obviously. But I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Somethin’ seemed right. That’s all I know, but it’s enough for me.”

Miracle of all miracles, Cas is able to wait until they get back to his apartment before he starts kissing Dean again.


	8. Chapter 8

A few days later, Cas is enjoying a particularly Dean-centric dream when someone starts pounding on his apartment door.

He rolls over onto his back and groans, opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling as he curses whoever’s outside for ruining his moment. Oliver doesn’t seem bothered; he’s still curled up in the corner of the bed, snoozing away. Cas sighs and stretches, ignoring the insistent knocking for a few more seconds—out of spite or laziness, he can’t say.

“Okay, okay, hold on!” Cas finally shouts. He stumbles toward the door and fiddles with the locks. Before he can fully open it, though, his sister, Anna, charges into the apartment, slapping a magazine onto the coffee table.

“Pleasure to see you, too, Anna,” he mumbles, rubbing one eye sleepily.

“Please tell me this is fake,” Anna says, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Tell me you have a doppelgänger, or some twin Mom and Dad never told me about, _something_.”

Castiel reaches for the magazine, glancing at his sister skeptically. “Anna, what—”

He cuts himself off when he sees the cover. It's some trashy gossip rag, something people flip through while waiting to check out at the grocery store. Cas had never given them a second glance, but then again, he'd never been on the fucking cover before.

He’s staring at a photo of him and Dean, sitting on a bench in the park. Their backs are to the camera, which just makes the whole thing even creepier, and their heads are turned just enough to make them identifiable from the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp mixed with the moonlight.

Dean has his arm slung across Cas’ shoulders, and Cas is looking at him like he hung the moon. At least they somehow missed their makeout session, but there’s no real room for interpretation as to the nature of their relationship, and Cas grips the magazine tighter.

 _Bachelorette Heartthrob Finds Love!_ is written on the cover in bright fuchsia type, with, “Has fan favorite Dean Winchester finally found someone to accept his rose? We’ve got the scoop!” typed out underneath.

Fingers trembling, Cas flips through the magazine until he gets to a spread of even more photos of him and Dean. The article is a complete fluff piece full of nothing but theories and introspections, but it still makes him feel nauseous.

When he finally looks up, Anna is staring at him incredulously. “So it _is_ you, then?”

“We’re not in love,” Cas says in response.

“A reality star?” Anna shakes her head. “Mom and Dad are going to _kill_ you, Cas.”

Cas rolls his eyes and tosses the magazine back onto the table. “You say that as if my whole life up until this point has been something other than a massive fucking disappointment to them.”

Anna pulls out a chair, taking a seat at Cas’ tiny dining room table. “You really like him, don’t you?” she asks softly.

Cas sighs defeatedly, sitting down across from his sister. “I didn’t think I would. He seemed so fake on TV. I practically hated him.”

“What changed your mind?”

Cas purses his lips, considering this. He’d never really thought about it before. “He did.”

The faintest hint of a smile plays across Anna’s lips. “So?”

“So what?"

“Come on, what’s he like?” Cas gapes at her, unsure of what to say next, and she rolls her eyes. “He’s gotta be different than he seemed on TV; there’s no _way_ you’d go for him if he wasn’t.”

 _She’s right_ , Cas realizes with a small smile. “How much time do you have?”

 

It doesn’t take long before Cas feels like he’s rambling, but he makes no attempt to stop. Telling Anna everything about Dean—what he likes, dislikes, and everything in between—provides a sense of relief that he didn’t realize he needed, and Cas is transported back to when they were young. Before he had come out to the rest of his family, Cas had confided in Anna, and they’d spent hours in her room comparing notes on boys they thought were cute.

“He’s so good with Oliver,” Cas says. “They just hit it off like that, and his smile is just...I used to hate it, it felt so smarmy and gross, but now, I don’t know, it’s just...great.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“You already told me about his smile,” Anna says, grinning. “ _And_ how much Ollie likes him. Like, ten minutes ago. In great detail.”

“I...oh.” Cas starts trying to brainstorm for some kind of excuse as to why he’s suddenly become so head-over-heels for Dean, but before he can, he feels Anna’s hand on his elbow and looks up into his sister’s eyes.

“You don’t need to make excuses for liking someone, Cas,” she says quietly. “I know you feel like you have to, but you don’t. Let him make you happy. He’s obviously good at it.” She gives him a small smile, and he can feel his face getting red.

“He’s a bit of an upgrade from Uriel, isn’t he?” Cas muses, thinking back to his first-ever crush back in third grade.

She laughs. “ _That’s_ an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Was he really that bad?”

“Don’t even get me started.” She waves him off and reaches for the magazine, studying the cover for a few more seconds and tapping two fingers on the photo. “He’s just as lucky, you know,” she says. “Remember that, little brother.”

 

* * *

 

“Welcome to this week’s episode of _Rose-Colored Glasses_ ,” Billie says once Charlie’s given them the thumbs-up that she’s started recording. “There’s drama in _Paradise_ , obviously, and we’re going to get into that in a second, but first, it’s our civic duty to comment on the fact that our baby boy Dean Winchester seems to have moved on from Lisa!”

She riffles the magazine’s pages against her microphone and Charlie cringes at the shitty audio, slicing a finger across her throat to get her to cut it out. “If y’all haven’t seen the latest issue of _People_ , do yourself a favor and grab a copy, if only to see how goddamn happy Dean looks with his new beau.”

“Looks like you might’ve been right, Cas,” Hannah says with a grin.

And, not for the first time, Cas is glad that their podcast doesn’t include video, if only to spare himself the humiliation of showcasing his rampant blush to their listeners. He’d already filled his friends in on his date with Dean; hell, Hannah had been the one to call him just minutes after Anna left his apartment the day he saw the magazine cover. They’d been more than a little excited for him, but he knew going into today’s episode that the chances of him escaping without a single subtle hint about his position on the cover being thrown his way were less than zero.

Cas clears his throat, trying to choose his words carefully. “You know I have a knack for these kinds of things. They both look happy together.” He takes Billie’s copy of the magazine and scrutinizes it, realizing that she’s drawn a heart around their faces in red Sharpie. His head shoots up and he stares at her; she smirks, drawing another heart in the air with her fingers.

“He deserves someone who makes him happy,” Billie says decidedly.

“Are you referring to Dean or romantic interest of Dean?” Hannah asks, and Cas tenses up at that. Billie doesn’t hesitate with her answer, though.

“Both. Everyone deserves someone who’ll make them happy.”

“Sentimental, much?” Charlie calls from her position across the room. Billie flips her off, and the group laughs.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, we all know this show’s a sack of shit. 99% of it is fake, manufactured drama for ratings and an easy way to line Chuck Shurley’s pockets three times a year, but sometimes things slip by. Sometimes they fuck up and actually find good people to be on this stupid show we all love so much, and I think that’s the case here.

“We only met him once, but Dean’s a good guy. And if he found someone who makes him happy, whether it’s through the show or not, then I’m counting it as a good thing. ‘S all I’m saying. I’m happy for him.”

And, well, Cas hadn’t been expecting that. He’s waiting Billie to burst out laughing, to let him in on the joke, expose the hidden cameras somewhere, but there’s nothing, and he smiles at the realization that this is her version of approval. No bullshit, no nothing.

 _Thank you_ , Cas mouths. Billie winks at him, Hannah and Charlie both smiling, and Cas rubs his palms against his thighs as Billie launches into the latest scandal that went down on _Bachelor in Paradise_ last week between Brady, Bela, and Gordon.

 

It takes the passing of three packed trains to convince Cas that it won’t kill him to walk the two miles back to his apartment once they’ve finished recording, and he’s heading up the steps toward the street when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_Dean, 2:33pm: can i have your autograph_

Another text arrives immediately afterwards, this one a photo of the magazine cover with someone—Dean, presumably—giving a thumbs up next to it. Cas rolls his eyes and types out a response.

_Cas, 2:35pm: How much do you think the signature of Dean Winchester’s mystery lover will go for on eBay?_

_Dean, 2:38pm: we can find out_

Dean is typing something else, but Cas isn’t in the mood to wait; he punches in Dean’s number and calls him instead.

“Didn’t even get my good side,” Dean grumbles the second he picks up.

“Hello to you, too.”

Cas can hear the grin on Dean’s lips in the next sentence. “They got yours, though.”

“I’m practically an entire shadow, Dean.”

“Well, I know it’s you.”

Cas smiles apologetically before sidestepping a particularly nervous-looking volunteer who tries to approach him about signing up for GreenPeace, then tells Dean, “So did my sister.”

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Eyes like fucking hawks, you Novaks. What’d she say?”

The idea of going into his heart-to-heart with Anna about just how much he likes Dean isn’t especially high on Cas’ to-do list just yet, and he shrugs even though he knows Dean can’t see him. “That you must be different than you seemed on TV, or else there’s no way I’d be with you.”

“Does your whole fucking family watch the show? I’d like to make at least one good first impression. Christ.”

Cas laughs, half at Dean’s comment, half at the idea of Dean meeting anyone in his family other than Anna. “You’ll be fine. Everyone at the podcast likes you, and they mean more to me than the majority of my family.”

Dean barks out a laugh at that. “Oh, good.” He pauses, then adds, “But seriously. I know you’re not exactly houndin’ for the spotlight, so I’m, uh, I should’ve thought that night out better.” Cas opens his mouth to respond even though he doesn’t exactly know what to say, but before he can, Dean continues. “Like you said, the picture’s pretty shitty, though, so I really don’t think anyone who doesn’t already know who you are would be able to recognize you, and even then, it’d still be tough to—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, “what are you talking about?”

Dean hesitates before explaining, as if it were obvious, “You didn’t sign up for this. For the whole ‘people following you around and your life being public knowledge for the foreseeable future’ thing. And, I don’t know, I feel like I should’ve warned you. Protected you. Done something other than make out with you in a prime fucking paparazzi location. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

It takes a few seconds for Cas to realize that Dean is _apologizing_ , and when he does, he stops short in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Dean…” He’d be lying if he said the idea of living his life in the spotlight to the same degree Dean does isn’t mildly terrifying. Dean’s right: it’s not something he wants, but he doesn’t want to be without Dean, either. “I know I’m not exactly suited for a life in the spotlight, but what’s done is done,” he finally says. “You don’t need to protect me, and I’m not ending things because of a magazine ninety-nine percent of the population wouldn’t even use to house-train their dogs.”

There’s a pause, then, “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll figure it out. Okay.” The relief in Dean’s voice takes Cas by surprise, the idea that even a small part of Dean might have been expecting him to be so upset by this whole thing that he would’ve ended it then and there.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?”

“Then whose is it?” Dean pauses, inadvertently letting the question hang awkwardly between the two of them, before trying to shift the conversation. “Listen, sorry. You’re right, we’ll figure it out. I’m...I gotta go, though. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Cas has barely hung up the phone and pocketed it when it buzzes again, with another new text.

_Dean, 2:52pm: still want that autograph though_


	9. Chapter 9

**_Season 29, episode 8, two-on-one date_ **

Andy scans what’s written on the card before looking up hesitantly, taking care to make eye contact with every man in the room. The only ones who haven’t been asked on a date yet—Dean, Alastair, and Max—are especially interested in what Andy has to say.

He takes a deep breath, then sighs. “Max,” he says. “Don’t let our love story get washed away. -Lisa.”

All eyes in the room immediately dart to Dean and Alastair, who have just learned their fate as recipients of a two-on-one date. Alastair’s face clouds over almost immediately: two-on-ones are notorious for being especially cutthroat and brutal. Two lovesick contestants (who are also usually at odds with each other) are chosen to go head-to-head in a date with the bachelor or bachelorette; one will win the date, and the other will be sent home immediately.

Alastair is clearly taking it seriously, but Dean just grins.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Al,” he says, elbowing Alastair good-naturedly. “Where d’you think we’re gonna go? Exotic speedboat ride through the Caribbean? Excursion through New Orleans swampland to learn about voodoo and witchcraft? Island crawling with baby piglets, maybe?”

Alastair glares at him. “I guess it’s good  _someone_ thinks this is funny.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on, dude. It’s a TV show. What good is it if we don’t have a little fun every once in awhile?”

“Some of us are here to actually find our soulmate,” Alastair spits back, voice and eyes fire.

“Who says I’m not?” Dean challenges. “I know this could be hard to believe, but chicks are usually more attracted to people  _without_ sticks up their asses, Cooke.”

Alastair flips him off, a pixelated blur at the top of his hand. “Tell me that again once you’re sent home, [bleep]hole.”

Dean leans back against the couch, arms folded over his chest. “See, I’m not sure about that,” he says, cupping his chin between his index finger and thumb and imitating being thoughtful. “I’m funny, charming as hell, and if we’re being honest, pretty easy on the eyes.” He narrows his eyes and grins at Alastair. “Looks like you’re oh-for-three, lover boy.” He kicks his feet up on the glass coffee table in front of him and entwines his hands together behind his head. “Lis and I might just have a shot.”

Alastair’s face is red, and he looks like he wants to snap Dean’s neck, but instead, he shakes his head and grins to himself as he takes another sip of his drink, amused by Dean’s naivete. Dean notices, and shifts position so that he’s not so relaxed.

“Got a rebuttal, man?” he asks, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs.

“It’s just funny,” Alastair says, setting his glass down on the table between them. “That you think you have a shot with her.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Hilarious.”

“You really think Lisa would want to be with someone like you?”

The room goes silent at that, and everyone’s attention pivots back toward Dean and Alastair. Benny clears his throat uncomfortably, and Victor pulls at his necktie.

_“Did I know what he was talking about?” Dean repeats the question back to the producer and purses his lips. “I sure as hell did, but I wanted to make him say it.”_

“What, someone who’s charming and handsome and funny? Yeah, can’t imagine why she wouldn’t dig me.”

“She wants a man,” Alastair says slowly.

Dean worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Pump the brakes, kid,” he says, voice low and rough.

Alastair ignores Dean’s warning and continues. “Not someone who gets [bleep]ed by one.”

All the air leaves the room in one fell swoop, no noise save for Alastair crunching on the ice cubes piled at the bottom of his glass. Benny makes to rest his hand on Dean’s shoulder, but the second his palm touches Dean’s shirt, Dean shoves his hand away makes for Alastair, lunging over the table and tackling him hard.

The chair Alastair is in topples backward onto the floor as Dean starts punching, only to get slammed in the face by Alastair’s booted foot. Dean staggers backward, hands to his nose, and suddenly Alastair’s the one with the upper hand. He straddles Dean and starts throwing punches.

The camera that had been on them drops to the floor as the sounds of the fight are heard offscreen. Someone—a PA, probably—picks up the previously abandoned camera and points it shakily at the action just in time to see Benny and a producer working together to hold Dean back while Raphael and Zachariah support Alastair.

Dean thrashes against the grips holding him in place, eyes brimming with disgust and anger. Blood is dripping from his nose, and his jaw is already swelling and going purple from Alastair’s kick.

“[Bleep]ing say that again,” Dean says threateningly. “I dare you, [bleep]er. I [bleep]ing dare you.”

Alastair leans heavily on Zachariah before wiping blood from his own mouth with the back of his hand. He stares at Dean and mouths something that the editors have to blur his mouth out for, but makes Dean struggle even harder.

“[Bleep] you, you [bleep]in’ piece of [bleep]!”

“Dean!” Benny shouts, gripping his friend’s arm harder and pulling him out of the producer’s grip. “Relax, brother, relax. Come on. He’s not worth it.” It takes a lot of work, but eventually Benny manages to wrestle Dean out of the room, taking a second to flip off Alastair as they leave.

_Dean’s eyes are dull as he stares absently at a spot past the camera. His nose has stopped bleeding, and he’s got an ice pack pressed against the side of his face._

_After a few seconds of silence, a producer’s voice is heard from off-screen. “What happened?”_

_Dean blinks slowly, shifting his focus back to the camera. “Why the [bleep] are you askin’_ me  _that?”_  
  


Later that day, Dean is ready for his two-on-one with Lisa. The makeup team has worked their magic on his face, concealing the bruises and swelling until they’re practically invisible, and with the date theme being “winter wonderland,” they’d given Dean an extra thick scarf and hat, as well. Alastair had been escorted out of the mansion, but according to the producers, Lisa hadn’t yet heard about the altercation.

Dean offers Lisa a single wave of his hand as he heads down the hill. She traipses through the snow to meet him, pulling a sled behind her that’s clearly meant as nothing more than a prop, and gives him a kiss.

“Missed you,” she says, tugging on his scarf to kiss him, not noticing the wince he’d given when she brushed a tender area near his mouth.

“Mhmm.”

“Where’s Alastair?” she asks, glancing up over Dean’s shoulder to see if the other man had been following him.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “They didn’t tell you?” he asks, casting a suspicious look at the camera.

“Tell me what?” Lisa hesitates, then says, “Is he okay?”

Dean barks out a hollow laugh at that. “Guess not,” he mutters. He pulls the sleeve of his coat up over his hand, then starts rubbing at his face, wincing every so often whenever he hits a particularly tender spot.

A producer tries to discourage him from off-camera, and Dean turns a gloved, pixelated middle finger in their direction.

Lisa’s face gets paler and paler as Dean pulls off his hat and continues scrubbing away the makeup covering his bruises. She reaches up and touches the darkening bruise under his eye, and Dean forces himself not to back away.

“What happened?” she asks quietly.

“Turns out our pal Alastair is a homophobic prick,” Dean says bluntly, and Lisa’s eyes widen.

“What? Oh, Dean, I’m sorry.” She envelops him in a hug, burrowing her face against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. [Bleep] him.”

Dean chuckles hollowly. “That was my stance, too. Hey, uh, listen…” He looks around, as if he’s looking for someone in particular, when his eyes finally land back on Lisa. “Can I be totally honest?”

“Of course.”

“I—” Dean clears his throat uncomfortably. “You know how much I like you. Obviously. But I  _really_ don’t want to be here right now.”

No camera angle or lighting shift can hide the way Lisa’s face falls at that. “Oh. Oh, of course. I just, are you sure I can’t help you to feel better?” She trails her finger along his jaw and down the buttons of his coat, but he doesn’t move.

He cranes his neck to look over Lisa’s shoulder and asks, “Can I go? Is that a yes?” Once he’s gotten the answer he wants, he finally looks at Lisa and rests his hands on her hips. “This isn’t about you,” he says, almost too softly for the microphone to pick up. “I promise.” He kisses her soft and slow, then walks away, leaving her alone in the snow.

_Andy clears his throat uncomfortably. “I...I didn’t know [bleep] like that still happened. It’s just...what the hell.”_

_“Is Dean okay?” Kevin asks, eyes wide and concerned. “[Bleep], I can’t believe this. Alastair’s gone, right? Y’all kicked him out? Because [bleep] this, honestly. And [bleep] him._

_Benny shakes his head, his dark eyes brimming with anger. “[Bleep] that mother[bleeper].”_

_Dean wets his lips and takes a breath, not looking up at the camera. “I’m not dealing with that again,” he says quietly, so quietly that it’s unclear whether he’s talking to himself or the viewers. He looks up, eyes and face a carefully crafted expressionless that’s obviously the result of years of practice. “I’m not.”_

 

* * *

 

Cas hadn’t been able to get that incident between Dean and Alistair out of his head for weeks after it aired. It had been the first time something Dean had done on the show had rang entirely true to him, felt real and raw and unedited, and thinking of the similar experiences Cas himself had gone through made him want to be sick. 

He’d wanted to talk to Dean about it, but there’s really no such thing as a good time to bring up that one instance where your boyfriend was harassed and beaten up on national TV, so Cas makes an executive decision that now, while they’re half-watching an episode of  _Bachelor in Paradise_ , is as good a time as any. He takes a breath and glances hesitantly at Dean, who chuckles as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Benny’s a good dude,” he says. “Hope he finds someone.”

“Can I ask you something?” Cas says hesitantly.

Dean brings his hand up from Cas’ shoulder and tangles it in Cas’ hair playfully. “‘Course.”

“It’s a little...personal.”

“Personal’s good.”

Cas waits for a few more seconds before glancing up at Dean, who’s still watching the TV. “On the show, you had said—”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I already showed you all my tattoos, Cas,” he says. “Promise there aren’t any more.”

“No, with Alistair.” Dean’s hand freezes in Cas’ hair for a split second, and Cas closes his eyes. “You know what, never mind. It’s nothing.”

“What about him.” Dean’s words are slow and careful, and Cas tries to consider his own just as carefully.

“I know there’s no good time to bring this up. I know you’d probably be happy if you never had to think about it again, but when you had said that you’re not dealing with that again…” Cas’ voice trails off, and his heart drops at the way Dean’s eyes dart down to his feet. “I don’t know what  _that_ is,” he says quickly, “and I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me. You don’t. But I just, I want you to know that I’m here.”

“That’s not a question,” Dean says. His voice is tight, Cas can tell he’s trying to be funny, but he shakes his head.

“I was going to ask you what it was,” he admits after a pause. “What had happened, what you referenced that day, night, whatever. But you don’t want to talk about it, I know that. Maybe you will sometime, but I don’t think that sometime is tonight. If you ever do want, or need, to, though, I’ll listen. I won’t pretend like I can fix it or know exactly how you’re feeling, but I’ll listen. And I know that helps me sometimes.”

He squeezes Dean’s hand and gives him a small smile. “So. I just wanted to let you know. I’ll listen.”

It should be quiet, a tender moment of silence between the two of them, but instead, two  _Bachelor in Paradise_ contestants are yelling at each other while another has just started sobbing in the corner of the hot tub. Dean’s mouth quirks up in a grin, and he squeezes Cas’ hand back.

“Thanks, Cas,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Sometime.”


	10. Chapter 10

**_Season 29, episode 10, hometowns_ **

_“I’m_ so _excited to have some of the boys over for hometowns,” Lisa narrates over footage of her walking around her hometown, stopping at niche bakeries and waving to passersby, some of whom do a better job of pretending to recognize her than others. “Family is something that means a lot to me, and even though mine is small, just me and Ben, it still comes first._

_“I know I’ve got good guys left, that’s why they’re still here. It’s going to be hard to narrow them down even more, but I think having a bit of home-court advantage will help, in a way. And I can’t forget about the most important opinion out there, of course.”_

The narration is timed to synchronize perfectly with Lisa opening the door to her townhouse. “Ben, honey? I’m back!”

Her son, a skinny ten-year-old with dark hair, pokes his head out from the kitchen. He gives his mom a small smile as she squats down to his level, and he holds out a rose at arm’s length for her.

“Is this for me? Thank you, sweetie!” She takes the rose and hugs him long and hard. “Oh, I missed you so much.” Ben hugs her back, but keeps a suspicious eye on the camera hovering just over her shoulder.

He asks her something, the question muffled against the fabric of her shirt, and she shakes her head. “Oh, hon, I’m almost done. I’m just home for a visit, and to introduce you to some new friends. I can’t do this without you, you know.”

It’s clear that’s not the answer Ben wants to hear. His arms drop back to his sides and he pulls away from Lisa, head down as he makes a beeline back to the living room.

“Ben, sweetie—” Lisa watches him go, then glances back at the camera with a sigh.

_“This has been a lot for him,” she says, fiddling with the rose Ben had given her. “I know it’s overwhelming, I know.” For the first time since the show began, Lisa’s face shows a trace of doubt. “I just...I hope it’s worth it. For both of us.”_

Clutching a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine worth at least a month of his salary, Dean makes his way up the front walkway toward Lisa’s house. He shoots a quick wink to the camera before knocking on the door, running his tongue over his teeth and giving himself one last once-over in the door’s window.

_“Am I nervous that she has a kid.” He repeats the question more as a statement, pursing his lips. “A little. Because honestly, if the kid doesn’t like me, I’m [bleep]ed. I know how that goes._

_“Kids love me, though. Don’t you remember that date with the babies?” He grins widely, but it slowly starts to fade as the producer says something off-camera. “My baby would’ve loved me whether he was plastic or not. Would’ve taken a damn bullet for that kid.”_

When Lisa opens the door, her face brightens immediately at the sight of Dean, and she wastes no time pulling him into a hug punctuated by a long kiss.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she says, voice muffled against his shirt.

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He drops a kiss onto the top of her head before handing her the flowers and wine, which she almost immediately drops onto the side table. “Been looking forward to this, and to meeting Ben.” Lisa grits her teeth unconsciously, and Dean’s cheeks go pale. “[Bleep], his name’s not Ben, is it? Damn it, I knew it wasn’t Ben. It’s definitely got three letters, though, Dan or Joe or—”

“No, no, you’re right, it’s Ben. I’m just, he’s a little...he’s cautious,” Lisa falters, taking Dean’s hands in hers. “It’s a lot for him to deal with, so I don’t want you to be offended or anything if he seems reserved. He’s a sweetheart, but he’s just—” She shrugs a little helplessly. “It’s been a lot.”

Dean gives her a small smile before the camera pans down to catch the way he squeezes her hands reassuringly. “He’s in charge, far as I’m concerned.”

Relief washes over Lisa’s face, and she leans in to kiss Dean. “Thank you,” she says.

Lisa takes Dean’s hand and leads them into her and Ben’s house. It’s a small, charming place, warm and welcoming, and they enter the living room, which features a TV playing reruns of _Bob’s Burgers_.

“Ben, honey, turn that off,” Lisa says. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Ben lets out an exaggerated groan and turns off the TV before dragging himself to his feet. Lisa gives Dean an apologetic glance, and he squeezes her hand again.

“Ben, this is my friend, Dean. He’s really excited to meet you.”

“Hey, dude,” Dean says, waving once at Ben. He looks from one adult to the other, still eyeing the camera especially warily, and doesn’t respond.

“Sweetie, say hello,” Lisa says.

Ben stays silent, and Dean tilts his head to the side curiously. He squats down, forearms on thighs, and says, “Got it. No smalltalk for you. Right to the point. I like it. So, lemme ask ya, Ben, how do you feel about trampolines?”

 

It takes less than half an hour at the trampoline park for Ben’s persona to make a complete 180. He matches Dean’s enthusiasm pace for pace, and the two of them take turns diving into pits of foam blocks, practicing flips onto different trampolines, and mastering the art of the trampoline slam dunk—well, at least, Ben does.

_“It’s a blast,” Dean says, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet a few times as herds of little kids run around behind him. “Surprised I haven’t snapped my [bleep]ing neck yet, but Ben’s having fun.”_

_As if on cue, Ben pokes his head into the frame and shouts, “Dean, there’s a rope swing over here!”_

_Dean waggles his eyebrows at the camera and grins. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got rope swings to, uh...swing on.”_

Eventually, Ben joins in a game of dodgeball, and Dean slips back onto a steady, non-bouncy surface and heads back to Lisa. She beams at him from the table she’s seated at and offers him a sip of her soda as he drops down next to her.

“Is this date for me or Ben?” she asks with a grin, wrapping one hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulling him toward her for a kiss.

“Can’t it be for both?”

Lisa’s smile gets wider by the second. “Right answer,” she says, draping Dean’s arm around her shoulders as the two of them watch Ben finish out the game. Once he’s done, they stop at a local deli for lunch, and Ben can’t stop talking about his new favorite pastime.

“Can we get a trampoline for the backyard, Mom?”

Lisa glances at Dean and grins. “Maybe, hon. We’ll have to see.”

“You can help us put it together,” Ben says, pointing his fork at Dean. “Since you’ll be here all the time now.”

Dean hams up the surprise for Ben’s sake, but it’s clear that he’s also a little taken aback by the bluntness of the boy’s statement. “That so?”

Ben nods. “I know when Mom likes someone,” he says. “She likes you.”

When Dean looks at Lisa across the table, her cheeks have gone bright red, and he grins.

“Ben, manners,” she says sharply.

“ _What_?” Ben whines. “It’s true!”

“No, no, it’s good,” Dean says. He reaches across the table and takes her hand, eyes traveling up and up until they lock with hers. “I like her, too.”

* * *

  

“You still have to show me that show.”

Cas furrows his brows together as he digs his keys out of his pocket to unlock his apartment. “I have fourteen different shows set to record on my DVR,” he says. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“The one with the pie,” Dean says. “That you mentioned the first time we went out.”

“ _Great British Bake-Off_?”

Dean waves him off as Cas nudges the door open with his hip. “Nah, wasn’t that reality bullshit.”

“‘That reality bullshit’ is what got us together in the first place,” Cas reminds him, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, yeah, but this was—hey, buddy, long time no see.”

Cas watches, fixated, as Dean bends down to greet Oliver, and he’s brought back to the first time Dean had visited, how much something as simple as a gentle hello to his kitten had turned Cas on, that he decides not to miss the opportunity this time.

“You said I reminded y—” Dean cuts himself off in surprise as Cas pulls him to his feet and shoves him up against the wall. Dean’s head thunks back and he winces; for a second, he’s worried that he’s hurt Dean, but the hungry gleam in Dean’s eye says differently.

He keeps going, brackets Dean’s wrists above his head, desperately kissing his neck and lips and face, revels in the way he can feel Dean smile against his own lips.

“Y’know how long I've wanted to do this?” he mumbles, slipping under Dean’s shirt and running his hands over his chest, until he manages to tug it up and over his head.

He tosses it to the side and presses up against Dean harder. Dean stares at him, eyes shining.

“Why’d you wait?” he asks, grinning as Cas pulls him forward into another frantic kiss, grinding his rapidly hardening dick against Dean’s thigh.

Dean allows Cas to keep his wrists pinned, but he nudges his nose forward against Cas’ neck. Cas takes the hint and releases Dean’s wrists before pulling him forward, struggling to keep his balance as they stumble down the hall.

Cas lands on his back on the bed with a satisfied grunt, struggling to keep an eye on Dean, who's shedding the rest of his clothes, as he tugs his own sweater over his head. He starts trying to wriggle out of his jeans, but he only gets them halfway down his thighs when he feels Dean tug them the rest of the way off roughly, unceremoniously. His hands are warm and firm against Cas, and Cas sighs into Dean’s mouth as he leans down to kiss him.

He starts tangling his fingers in Dean’s short hair as he continues to kiss him, then quickly swaps their positions so that Dean’s flat on his back.

Dean looks up at him, eyes bright and gleaming, and Cas traces his thumb along Dean’s jaw while reaching down for his cock. He tries not to, Cas can tell, but Dean lets out a shuddering breath at the contact and pokes his tongue between his teeth, letting his head drop back and exposing the long column of his neck.

“Fuck.”

Cas works slowly with deft fingers, stroking Dean up and down while kissing his throat, pleased at the way he can feel Dean’s breath hitching with every motion.

“Christ,” Dean mutters, and Cas grins. He presses a hand down on Dean’s chest when he cants his hips up in anticipation. “C’mon,” Dean whines, tangling his fingers in Cas’ hair and tugging just hard enough to make Cas bite back a moan of his own. He cranes his neck up for more kisses, and Cas is quick to oblige.

This has never felt so effortless, not with anyone, and Cas can’t get enough of the way Dean seems to lean into every touch, the way that everything he does seems to be exactly what Dean had wanted. He builds on it, teasing Dean further and further with his hands and his mouth until he comes with a satisfied sigh, falling back into the bed and looking at Cas with slightly unfocused eyes.

“Remind me again,” he says, motioning for Cas to lean in close, “which one of us has been in a fantasy suite?”

Cas snorts, a noise that he’s sure is among the least attractive sounds he’s ever emitted, but Dean doesn’t react. “That’s cute,” Cas says, circling Dean’s nipple slowly with his finger.

“You got a rose to give me?” He pretends to check under their pillows and Cas grins.

“I always thought that sounded so sexual.”

Dean rolls onto his side and looks at him curiously. “What?”

“That phrase, ‘will you accept this rose.’ I don’t know, something about it just…” His voice trails off, and he shrugs against the pillows and sheets.

Dean chuckles. “Will you accept my dick?”

Cas rolls his eyes and smacks him on the chest, which just makes Dean laugh more. “You’re disgusting.”

Dean edges closer to Cas, closing up what little space had been remaining between them, and kisses Cas’ temple. “You love it.”

Cas doesn’t respond, but tugging Dean’s arm tighter around his shoulders, he thinks he just might.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Season 29, episode 11, hometowns_ **

_“Never really thought I’d make it this far,” Dean says with a laugh, “but here we are.” He spreads his arms wide and grins cheekily at the camera. “Hometowns.”_

The camera pans around behind Dean to showcase the town center of Lawrence, Kansas as Dean’s voice narrates the scenes. It’s a small, charming little city, and the fondness Dean holds for it is easy to see as he begins his micro tour.

“This is my school,” Dean says, gesturing up toward Thompson Elementary. “Well, not really  _my_ school, but the one I teach at. You get it.”

It’s a small building, a bit run-down and in need of a new coat of paint, but if the well-worn sports fields and sidewalks full of chalk art are any indication, there’s no shortage of positive energy and learning throughout the school.

“And here,” Dean says, walking up to the car and running his hand reverently across it, “here’s my baby.”

He grins down at the car, a sleek, black 1967 Chevy Impala, with a proud gleam in his eye normally reserved for when parents look at their children. He gets into the car and turns the key before backing out of the parking spot and continuing the tour.

“She’s a beauty, huh?” Dean says, grinning over his shoulder at the camera operator in the Impala’s backseat. “Used to be my old man’s, then I got it when...” Dean clears his throat uncomfortably at that, but pushes past the silence threatening to overwhelm the scene. “Uh, yeah.”

 _“I got a bit of a mixed bag when it comes to family,” Dean says, shrugging in a_ what-can-you-do  _kind of way, “but I wouldn’t trade ‘em for anything.”_

Dean drives along the winding Lawrence roads, slowing down every so often to point out places that meant something to him. A field where he and his little brother set off illegal fireworks when they were young, Singer Salvage, an auto yard belonging to Bobby Singer, the man he considers to be his second father (as well as the place where he got his first job), a crummy motel their dad had regularly taken them to as a “stay-cation.”

Along the way, he eventually stops to pick up Lisa, who’s waiting outside the local florist with a small bouquet of flowers in hand. Dean pulls up to the sidewalk, smooth and sultry like he’s done it a thousand times before, and reaches across the seats to shove open the passenger side door.

“Missed you,” he says, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Missed you more.” She smiles and tucks her hair behind her ears. “And I’m not the only one.”

Dean chuckles, eyes bright as he pulls back out onto the road. “Yeah?”

“Ben loves you. And he’s not letting me forget it.” She grins and rests the side of her head against the window. “Thank you.”

He takes her hand and kisses it without taking his eyes off the road. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

After a drive soundtracked by laughter and conversation and (most notably) Dean’s classic rock collection, Dean flicks on the Impala’s turn signal as they approach a dilapidated bar called the Roadhouse. The place has clearly seen better days and is in desperate need of a renovation, but Dean’s all reverent affection as he pulls into its dirt and gravel parking lot.

“Ready?”

Lisa pauses. “I thought we’d be getting dinner at your family’s place,” she says, trying—and not exactly succeeding—to look casual and not at all panicked as Dean puts the car into park.

“This  _is_ my family’s place.” Dean glances over his shoulder at her and grins. “Sorry if you were expectin’ the Ritz, but Bobby and Ellen’ll take care of us.”

Lisa smiles back at him and leans across the seats in the Impala, resting her hand on Dean’s thigh. “I trust you,” she says, craning her neck up and pressing her lips to his. They kiss for a few seconds, Dean resting his hand on the back of Lisa’s neck, rubbing his thumb gently behind her ear. Dean exits the Impala and hustles around to the other side, opening Lisa’s door with an over-the-top bow, and she giggles, smacking his hand away.

While Michael’s family had been prim and proper, full of freshly pressed shirts and polite conversation, Dean’s is raucous, loud and messy and blunt. They laugh and pound tables and yell and greet each other like long-lost friends.

When Lisa had given Ellen, the woman who acts as Dean’s second mother, the bouquet of flowers picked just for her by one of the show’s PAs, she studied them for a second, thanked her, then tossed them behind the bar when she thought no one was looking. Her husband, Bobby, scoops them up and tucks them behind the ancient cash register before embracing Dean and giving Lisa a gentle hug.

Dean makes introductions—his brother, Sam, and his girlfriend, Eileen; Ellen and Bobby’s daughter, Jo; a handful of friends who all already seem to be four drinks deep.

“So,” Lisa says once all the introductions are made, “what do you guys like to do for fun around here?”  


“Drink, drink, drink, drink!” everyone chants. Dean’s knees buckle, throat working overtime as he struggles to down the beer still left in his funnel. Lisa, on the other hand, is having no trouble at all. She holds up her free hand and flicks her wrist casually, taking one more gulp before spitting out the funnel and raising both hands in victory.

The Roadhouse erupts in cheers, and Dean splutters out his remaining beer when Sam smacks him hard on the back. He coughs, pounding a fist to his sternum as he tries to clear his throat, and stares at Lisa with an awestruck admiration even the alcohol can’t hide.

Beaming, she saunters over to him and drapes her arms around his neck. “You’ve got a little something there,” she says, running her thumb gently across his bottom lip before giving him a kiss.

He returns it without hesitation, tangling his fingers in her hair as he leans her back to deepen the kiss, and they stay that way, lost in the moment, until Jo throws a handful of peanuts their way.

“Get a room, lovebirds!” she shouts, smirking when Dean flips her off without opening his eyes or taking his lips off Lisa’s.

_“How do you feel about being the reason the editing team has to use the bleep button or edit things out more than any other contestant?”_

_Dean smirks at the producer’s question, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Badge of honor.”_

Ellen finally nudges in between Dean and Lisa, wrapping her hand around Lisa’s wrist. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, “but me and Lisa need to have a chat.”

Dean sticks his bottom lip out in a pout, but lets his hands drop away from Lisa’s waist as she follows Ellen to a nearby booth. Once Lisa is out of sight, Sam wraps his arm around his older brother’s shoulders and leads him to the opposite side of the bar.

Pleased and just a little tipsy, Dean drops down into the seat across from Sam. “That’s her,” he says, casting an affectionate look over his shoulder. “Isn’t she great?”

“She seems really nice, dude.” Sam grins and then considers Dean, resting his head in his hand with his lips pursed together, pausing for a few seconds before adding, “You sure about this?”

“Am I—Sam, have you  _seen_ her?”

Sam nods. “I know you think she’s beautiful, and she is. You look good together, Dean.”

Dean looks at him, unamused. “ _But_ …” he says, waving his hand vaguely.

“ _But_...I don’t know. I just want to make sure she’s good for you, just like you did when I first started talking to Eileen. Tell me what you like about her. Other than the fact that she can drink you under the table.”

Dean chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “She’s sweet,” he says slowly. “She makes me laugh, and cares about family. She proved me wrong about this show, Sammy. And I think that’s all I need.”

From the way he catches his bottom lip in his teeth to the quick glance he casts in the camera’s general direction, it’s clear that Sam wants to say something else, but instead, he just asks, “Does she make you happy?”

Dean’s brows furrow together, surprised at Sam’s question. “Uh, yeah, dude. Obviously.”

Sam smiles in a way that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I’m glad.”

Dean notices, and he’s about to press his brother for more information when Lisa and Ellen approach their table.

“There’s my girl.” He gets to his feet and welcomes Lisa back with yet another a dramatic dip, one hand holding hers, the other supporting the small of her back. He glances up at Ellen, who gives him a tiny nod, then at Sam, who flashes a thumbs up, and smiles before bringing Lisa back up and pressing his lips to hers.

The rest of the night with Dean’s family passes in a blur, with games of pool, darts, and foosball bookended by more beer and food. Lisa slips into the family almost seamlessly, and with every passing minute, it becomes more and more evident how infatuated Dean is with her.

_“Dean likes her,” Sam says with a laugh, leaning back and crossing his legs. “Definitely smitten.” He pauses after glancing away from the camera, then looks back at it. “He deserves someone who’ll make him happy.”_

_Jo shrugs. “They’re cute,” she says. “Wish I could be that into somebody I just met two weeks ago.”_

“So, that’s them,” Dean says as they get back into the Impala after having concluded the family portion of the evening. “Hope they didn’t scare you off too much.”

Lisa shakes her head, leaning against Dean’s shoulder and gripping his upper arm gently. “They’re just like you,” she says, kissing his cheek. “Perfect.”

* * *

 

It’s a Tuesday night when Cas finally shows Dean _Twin Peaks_. They curl up on Dean’s couch after dinner and Dean queues the show up on Netflix.

“This better be good,” he says warningly, glancing at Cas as he hits PLAY.

“It’s one of the only scripted shows I’ve ever enjoyed,” Cas answers simply, and Dean raises his eyebrows, impressed.

With that, they spend the next hour and a half in the sleepy, offbeat town of Twin Peaks, Washington. Cas keeps glancing over at Dean, searching for any kind of reaction as his face is illuminated by the screen, but Dean’s got a good poker face. He doesn’t seem bored, at least, watching the show intently with his lips pursed together, unmoving until the credits start to roll. Cas grabs the remote and pauses the show, turning eagerly toward him.

“So?” he asks. “What’d you think?”

There’s a few seconds of silence as Dean considers the question. Cas can’t blame him; it’s an incredible episode of television. Maybe he’s overwhelmed by the mysterious letter found under Laura’s fingernail in the morgue, or whether or not Bobby Briggs really played a part in Laura’s disappearance, or just the simple fact that everyone and their mother seems to have something to hide, and it’s only the first epis—

“Agent Cooper could get it.”

Cas stares at him. “Seriously?” he asks. “Out of everything that happened in that episode, _that’s_ your biggest takeaway? Jesus, Dean, I mean, I appreciate Kyle MacLachlan as much as the next person, but there’s so much to unpack in the one episode.”

Dean grins at him, his tongue just barely poking out suggestively between his teeth. “He reminds me of you.”

Cas lets out a surprised squeak before he can stop himself. “I, what?”

“Yeah.” Dean crooks two fingers into Cas’ belt loop and tugs him to face him, then starts punctuating each comparison with a kiss. “You’re smart. You see the good in people. Your jawline is sharp as fuck. You—”

“—don’t like pie.”

Dean smacks Cas’ shoulder. “Don’t ruin my moment. I like it enough for both of us. You have a tape recorder?” he mumbles as he kisses up and down Cas’ neck.

Cas shakes his head, tilting his head back to give Dean better access. “I could get one.”

Dean makes a noise of affirmation and Cas sucks in a breath through his teeth when he feels Dean nip gently at his earlobe. “Make a note, Diane,” Dean breathes, not trying to hide his enjoyment when he feels Cas shudder under his hands. Cas doesn’t waste anymore time; he swings his leg over Dean’s hips and situates himself on his lap, kissing him long and hard.

At some point, episode two starts playing, but without hesitation or saying a word, they both decide they’ll watch it later.  


“Can I borrow a shirt?” Cas asks later that night when they’re in Dean’s room, getting ready for bed.

“Second drawer on the right,” Dean says, gesturing vaguely toward the bureau as he digs through the closet for another pillow. “They should all be clean.”

“That’s comforting,” he mutters, walking over to Dean’s bureau. Several shirts are balled up and unceremoniously stuffed into the small drawer, and Cas starts digging through them. A souvenir from a charity walk, a faded Hard Rock Cafe shirt that’s probably older than Dean himself, a hastily screen-printed shirt for a local tattoo shop. He finally decides on an old Bruins shirt, and as he starts to pull it out, his hand brushes against something cold and metallic. He digs through the rest of the shirts and pulls out the object as discreetly as he can.

A pair of handcuffs.

Cas closes his eyes and swallows. He’s _here_ for this, wants to tackle Dean—or let Dean do the same to him—without another word, but he decides to play his cards carefully instead. He crooks a finger through one of the cuffs, letting them dangle from his hand, and turns around just as Dean says, “Is it really that hard to find a sh...it.”

Dean freezes, staring at Cas with wide eyes. Cas has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his face as blank as possible; seeing Dean uncertain and flustered is new to him, but not all unwelcome. “I, uh, those—” Dean stammers, his cheeks getting redder by the second.

“Are they yours?” Cas asks.

Dean nods, desperately searching Cas’ face for some kind of reaction. Cas looks at him, then takes a few steps forward, glancing down at the cuffs still dangling from his finger. “Can we…” He trails off, pointing from himself to Dean and back.

Dean’s eyes go bright at Cas’ response, and Cas grins. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

Dean closes the space between them quickly, and Cas can feel Dean’s dick pressing against his leg through his pajama pants as he loops his arms around his neck. Cas leans in, raising the cuffs above their heads. Dean reaches up and grabs them without breaking eye contact; Cas can hear them jangle as Dean twirls them around his own finger.

“Let me return the favor,” Dean says, grinning at Cas, who kisses him long and hard. He pulls himself out of Dean’s grip and hops up into the bed, keeping his eyes on Dean the whole time.

And that’s how Cas finds himself with his wrists cuffed above his head and Dean straddling his hips, inching forward with a tie in his hand.

He rests his palm against Cas’ chest, warm and firm against his skin, and looks up at him through long eyelashes in a silent request of permission. Cas nods and focuses on Dean’s tiny little smile before it’s covered by Dean fastening the tie over his eyes. He digs his fingernails into his palms, soaking up the way Dean’s lips feel against his skin as he kisses his sternum, his collarbone, his neck.

“Thanks.” His rough, throaty voice makes Cas’ cock twinge, and he tilts his head back and lets out a long, shuddering breath. Dean notices—quickly, Cas might add—and turns his attention back to Cas’ neck, dropping quick kisses and bites that make Cas suck in a breath through his teeth.

Dean’s movements are random; first his fingers are messily entwined with Cas’ above his head, their mouths pressed together, then Cas can feel Dean’s hands on his shoulders as he swipes his tongue along his collarbone. One hand stays up at his chest, a finger circling his nipple wistfully, while the other wraps around his cock.

Cas unconsciously jerks against the cuffs, canting his hips up toward Dean, and he can hear Dean chuckle at the sound of the metal jangling against the wood of his headboard.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cas breathes. He immediately notices the absence of warmth from Dean’s mouth on his stomach, and he just about comes right then when he feels Dean’s breath right next to his ear and hears him, in a raspy, amused voice, say, “Not yet.”

Cas bites down hard on his lower lip when he feels Dean’s hands move down to hips, soon followed by the warmth of his mouth around his cock.

“Jesus,” he breathes, toes curling into the sheets piled at the foot of the bed, jerking his body up by his wrists.

Dean works deftly, tonguing Cas’ slit and working his way up and down Cas’ shaft. More than anything, Cas wants to tear off the blindfold and watch as Dean continues, and lets out a soft whimper as he tugs against the cuffs around his wrists.

“Wanna see you,” he whines, canting his hips up toward Dean again, and Dean pauses. The warmth of his mouth is gone and Cas misses it immediately. He goes still, trying to place where Dean had gone, and he strains forward when he feels Dean’s lips press against his own.

He can taste himself as Dean works his tongue into his mouth, slow and deliberate and delicate. Cas tugs his wrists again, whimpers into Dean’s mouth, and suddenly the tie is shoved up over his forehead. His eyes adjust quickly to see Dean, centimeters from his face. His eyes are cast down toward Cas’ lips, and when he glances up at him, Cas feels like he’s been punched in the face.

Dean smiles, that stupid crooked shit-eating grin that helped make him famous, and all Cas can think is that it looks even better up close.

“You’re so fucking good, Dean Winchester,” he says, almost awestruck. “You’re incredible.”

He can see everything in those eyes, the vulnerability, the eagerness, the infatuation, and Cas just stares. It’s obvious that Dean knows what he’s doing, but there’s something else there, an odd kind of trust and desire to do good that Cas can’t entirely describe.

Dean pauses at that, trying to process Cas’ words. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a small smile, and he reaches up for the tie again. Cas can feel his breath hot and close against his face as he leans in close, then breathes, “That’s nothing” as he pulls the tie back down over Cas’ eyes.

Cas’ back arches and he lets out a startled, throaty gasp when he feels Dean drop kisses between his thighs, taking his time dragging his tongue along the skin until he feels his mouth back around his cock. Cas spreads his legs wider as Dean works. He pulls against the cuffs harder this time, wishing he could grab a fistful of Dean’s hair, and sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“ _Dean_ ,” he breathes, and Dean hums around him in acknowledgement, his tongue moving slow and deliberate along Cas’ shaft. When he lifts his hips up into Dean’s face, Dean slides his hands underneath him, cupping his ass with a squeeze. He’s not going to last much longer, he knows he’s not, and he tilts his head back, swallowing hard as he alternates between mental images of Dean sucking him off, then glancing up at him with narrowed eyes and that little smirk again.

He finally comes with a gasp, hands going lax in the restraints. His chest is heaving as he starts to even out his breathing, and he can hear Dean jerking himself off with one hand as he pulls the tie away from Cas’ eyes with the other. Cas watches as Dean finishes himself, and tries to ignore the aching feeling in his gut at the desire to do everything for Dean that he had just done for him.

Once he’s finished, Dean looks up at him with a satisfied smile, and wipes his hand clean before straddling Cas and undoing the cuffs. “Good?” he asks, sliding back down onto the bed with Cas in tow.

Cas smiles and nods, tilting Dean’s jaw toward him and giving him a kiss. “I wish I could’ve done this for you, though,” he says, tracing a finger along Dean’s inner thigh. Dean wraps his arm around Cas’ shoulders and kisses his temple, resting their heads together; Cas’ stomach does a happy little flip at his response.

“You’ll have plenty of other chances for that.”


	12. Chapter 12

Cas thought he had already seen Dean at his most attractive last night, but as it turns out, seeing him with bedhead and sleepy eyes is even better. He leans over and kisses him, smiling when he feels Dean kiss back.

“Good morning.”

“You can say that again,” Dean mumbles, pulling Cas close and pressing a kiss into his hair. Cas rests his hand on Dean’s chest, watching the way it rises and falls with every breath, and just feeling Dean’s warmth next to him, the way his fingers curl around his shoulder and chin rests against the side of his head, Cas knows that he could spend the entire day like this.

Then Dean’s stomach grumbles.

So much for that.

He glances over at Cas and grins, half apologetically and half expectantly, a silent question of breakfast plans, and suddenly, Cas knows where they’ll go.

“Have you ever had a maple bacon donut?”

Dean stares at him. “Ugh, come on,” he finally says before rolling onto his stomach and covering his head with a pillow. “Don’t joke about shit like that.”

“It’s not the Loch Ness Monster, Dean. It’s real.”

Dean flips him off without lifting the pillow. “Don’t talk shit about Nessie in front of me,” he says, his voice muffled against the sheets.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Would you like to see it?”

This gets Dean to poke his head up. “We still talkin’ about the donut here?”

 _I’m dating a bona fide child_ , Cas thinks, but just says, “Shut up. Do you want to go or not?”

 

“I hate you.”

Twenty minutes later, Dean’s got a coffee and a maple bacon donut with a bite taken out of it sitting on the tiny wooden table in front of him, and Cas is taken aback, to put it mildly.

“I’m sorry?”

Dean glares at him, taking another bite of the donut. “How the fuck am I supposed to eat another donut after this? Everything is subpar now. Everything sucks.” 

Cas grins and pulls his raspberry lime rickey donut carefully out of its bag. “I’m glad you like it.” His mouth is full when he notices a couple glancing their—or at least Dean’s—way every so often, and he chews and swallows quickly, suddenly uncomfortable, before leaning across the table.

“I think those two—”

“Relax,” Dean says. “They’re not looking at you.” He takes a long sip of his coffee and nods at them over the cup; that seems to do the trick. They smile and go back to their own breakfasts. “You got any plans today?”

“I’m not sure if catching up on the last two _Bachelor in Paradise_ episodes before our next recording can be considered ‘plans,’ but if they are, then, well, that.”

Dean snorts. “All righty then. Never mind.”

“Why?”

“Don’t let me get in the way of a good time,” he says, raising his hands innocently.

“ _What_?”

Dean pops the last of his donut into his mouth and fiddles with his napkin, suddenly nervous. “My brother’s in town,” he starts. “Figured if you weren’t busy, maybe you’d want to meet him.”

Cas’ eyes go wide. “You want me to meet your brother?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t hate it.”

Cas thinks he’s doing a good job of playing it cool, but Dean’s slightly tilted head and bemused smirk say otherwise. “You, uh, like that idea?”

“Your brother is very sweet,” Cas says, and Dean barks out a laugh.

“Sweet, my ass. Sammy’s a pain.”

“Does he know how much everyone loved him during your hometowns episode?”

Dean furrows his brow in confusion, then his eyes go wide. “During my—oh, fuck.” He points at Cas and adds, “Don’t say a fucking word to him about that, got it? If he finds out people actually _liked_ him, that he’s got _fans_ , he’ll never let me live it down.”

Cas grins. “You don’t think your brother deserves his own fan club?”

“Hey, who’re you supposed to be dating here, him or me?”

“I think they’re still looking for next season’s bachelor,” Cas says teasingly, reaching across the table for Dean’s hand. Dean glares at him and pulls both hands away.

“He’s taken,” he says, then adds, “You want to meet him or not?”

“Obviously.”

“If you ask for his autograph, I’m fucking leaving.”

“What about a selfie?”

Dean doesn’t break eye contact as he pushes his chair away from the table and gets to his feet. He’s trying so hard to look pissed off, but Cas doesn’t miss the way he can’t stop his lips from quirking up every so often as he heads for the door.

“ _Bye_ , Cas.”

 

They spend the morning in Union Square, browsing through comic shops and record stores and an impromptu farmer’s market. Cas knows that all they’re doing is effectively killing time until lunch, when Sam had told Dean he could meet them, but he could spend the whole day like this, just walking around with him. He can’t get enough of watching the way he reverently holds up an old record like it’s a newborn, or the way he teases Cas when he digs through shelves of comics for the fourth copy, always the fourth copy, because who knows what’s been done to the first three, Dean?

Soon enough, it’s time for them to meet up, and as much as he tries, Cas can’t stop the tiny ball of excitement from building up in his gut as they walk to the restaurant. If Sam Winchester really did have a fan club, he’d definitely count himself among its ranks. Sam had created quite the fanbase for himself as the endearing, good-natured kid who wanted nothing but the best for his older brother. America had fallen in love with Sam almost as much as Dean, and Cas would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to meet the younger Winchester, as well.

His friends are going to fucking kill him.

The restaurant isn’t too crowded, and the second Cas sees him, he recognizes him from TV, and he hates himself for feeling almost starstruck. Sam’s eyes brighten as Dean leads Cas toward him, and Cas has to resist the urge to wave. Dean nudges Cas as his little brother approaches, and mutters, “Be cool,” under his breath.

“Cas?” Sam asks, cutting off any more of Dean’s concerns as he holds out his hand for a shake. When Cas nods and offers his own hand, Sam grabs it and pulls him forward into a hug.

Cas can’t help but think that Sam’s hugs are just as warm as he’d imagined from the moment he saw him hug Lisa during hometowns.

“Sorry,” Sam says suddenly, stepping back as if he’d been shocked. “I know some people don’t like hugs, I didn’t mean—”

Cas smiles at him. “Hugs are fine. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He grins before shaking his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “So, you guys hungry?"

It only takes a few minutes for Cas to confirm why so many viewers loved Sam during his brief time on the show, and to understand why he means so much to Dean. He’s smart and quick and funny and warm, and seeing the way he and Dean exchange banter makes him wish that he had a better relationship with more of his own siblings.

“You got Dean to like a _cat_?” Sam asks bewilderedly, and Cas laughs as Dean glares.

“I’m not a monster, Sammy,” Dean mutters, tucking into the rest of his beer. “I like cats fine. Christ.”

“He and Oliver are quite smitten with each other,” Cas agrees.

“You got Dean to like a cat named _Oliver_?” Sam asks, sounding like Cas had just told him that the cat’s got two heads and is fluent in French.

“It suits him,” Cas says, and Sam laughs.

Dean rolls his eyes and nudges Cas’ knee under the table. “Careful,” he says to Cas, “or I might start thinkin’ you like Sammy more than me.” He slides out of the booth and starts to head toward the bathroom. A few steps in, though, he pauses and looks back over his shoulder at Sam.

“Don’t steal my boyfriend while I’m gone.”

Sam rolls his eyes and flips his brother off without looking at him. Cas doesn’t have to know Dean well to know that he’s doing the same exact thing.

Sam chuckles to himself and takes another sip of his drink. “You two are cute,” he says, smiling at Cas, and Cas’ cheeks go hot. He searches Sam’s face for any sort of crack, a hint that he’s lying or just telling Cas something he knows he wants to hear. He’s unnerved to find nothing of the sort.

“I’m sure you say that about all of his significant others,” Cas says, trying to be casual.

Sam barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “If you’ve seen some of the people my brother’s brought home, you’d _know_ that’s not true.”

“You seemed to be a fan of Lisa’s.”

Sam raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Lisa?”

“During hometowns,” Cas says. He’s slightly embarrassed that he remembers the scene so well, but he remembers too much of that season too well, and just decides to roll with it. “You seemed to think they were cute together, as well.”

“I said he deserved someone who would make him happy,” he says slowly, “not that she’d be the one to do it.

“I liked her fine,” Sam continues. “I just didn’t like everything that came along with her. The idea of him getting his heart broken on national TV. It’s all rigged; I told him over and over not to go through with it. And even if he _did_ win, he’d still have to deal with all the fame. The photos and interviews and shit-talking. He tries to act like he can handle it, like shit people say doesn’t bother him, but he’s lying through his teeth.” He pauses, toying awkwardly with his napkin. “That’s not exactly something the producers want you to throw out on the table during hometowns, though.”

Cas isn’t sure how obvious he makes it, but his heart jumps up into his throat at Sam’s comment. “Your brother is a special person,” he finally says.

Sam nods, and Cas doesn’t miss the faint air of fondness in the younger Winchester’s eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know. Which is why he deserves someone just as good. He’ll never talk about this, says it’s too cheesy, but what it boils down to is him being happy. He spent so much of his life—still does—making sure everyone else is happy and taken care of. He deserves the same for himself, whether he believes it or not.”

Cas knows he should feel touched, heartened by Sam’s clear love for his older brother, but there’s one particular aspect of Sam’s comment that sticks out, and he can’t help but latch onto it.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who has trouble convincing him that he’s a good person,” he grumbles, and Sam laughs.

“No,” he says, grinning. He picks up his glass and holds it aloft, waiting for Cas to do the same, then clinks them together. “Definitely not the only one.”

“Not the only one to what?”

Sam and Cas look up as Dean slides back into the booth next to Cas, waiting for them to fill him in. Instead, Sam shakes his head and finishes his drink.

“Nothin’, Dean.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Seriously,” Sam says, “it’s nothing. I gotta go, though.” He digs into his back pocket and pulls out a twenty, dropping it onto the table. “I’ll see you guys later, though. Nice to meet you, Cas.” He smiles at Cas, then adds to Dean, “Call me sometime, huh, asshole?”

Dean rolls his eyes and swipes at his little brother. “Two-way street, Sammy."

Later that night, about halfway through another one of Cas’ reality shows, his phone vibrates next to him with a new text message. He grabs it and swipes the message open; it’s from Dean, and Cas smiles down at the screen in spite of himself.

The text is a screenshot of another text message, this one from someone Dean has programmed into his phone as “Bitch.” It’s short, sweet, and makes Cas’ heart jump up to his throat.

**I like him. I think he’s good for you, Dean.**

_Dean, 9:32pm: that’s from sam_

Cas furrows his brows together before typing out a reply.

_Cas, 9:33pm: Why is he in your phone as “Bitch?”_

_Dean, 9:35pm: that’s what you’re reacting to the most? hard as it might be to believe, he doesn’t like EVERYONE, dude_

Cas thumbs over to his emojis and sends Dean a face wearing sunglasses.

_Cas, 9:36pm: That’s very kind of Sam. I liked him, too_

_Cas, 9:36pm: What did you say? In response to him, I mean._

The second Cas hits send, he immediately wishes he could take the text back. Does he really want to know what Dean said? What if it’s not something good? What if it’s just something bland, a “he’s not so bad, I don’t mind him?”

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Dean’s latest message comes through with another screenshot, this one of Sam’s text and Dean’s reply underneath. Cas sinks down further into the couch, defaulting into full-on middle schooler who just got asked out by his crush.

**well, that makes two of us.**

 

It takes a few weeks of seeing other couples out and about—and stumbling upon the now infamous issue of _People_ buried in Dean’s magazine basket—for Cas to make a decision on just how much he wants the world to get to know him.

Dean’s halfway through a comic book when Cas drops the magazine on his lap; his boyfriend looks up at him in surprise and a bit of confusion as Cas sits down across from him.

“I want this,” he says, gesturing down toward the photo. “With you.”

Dean furrows his brows together as he tries to decipher what Cas is getting at; when he does, his face goes soft. “Yeah? Y’sure?”

“Yes.”

“You know you didn’t sign up for this. I’m not gonna drag you into this tiny shred of limelight just because you decided to lower your standards and stick with me for a while.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s only big enough for me, anyway.”

Cas knocks his arm against him playfully. “Shut up.”

Dean grins. “Seriously. When I signed up for the show, I didn’t really think—I don’t know, I didn’t think I’d make it far enough to even leave an impression or an impact on my own life, so the idea of me affecting other people, it’s just...it’s weird. You should’ve seen how pissed Sam was the first time someone took over his brunch date because they recognized him from the show and wanted to ask him questions about me.”

“You never told me that,” Cas says quietly, wondering what his reaction would have been even if Dean had told him. Somehow, he doesn’t think it would’ve changed anything.

Dean shrugs. “Just giving you the full rundown, the whole _can’t say I didn’t warn ya_ schtick.” He pauses, then says, “So I’m guessing you never mentioned us on your show, either, huh?”

Cas gasps, scandalized. “Are you saying you didn’t become a regular listener after your appearance?” he asks, pressing a hand to his heart.

“I ain’t exactly your target demographic,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Plus, it was a little hard to warm up to that one co-host. He was, how can I put this in the nicest way possible, a massive douche.”

Dean winks at him and Cas drops his head down against Dean’s shoulder. “I didn’t mention it,” he says, “because I didn’t know if you wanted it to be public knowledge. You weren’t exactly straightforward about asking me out in the first place.”

Dean barks out a laugh. “What, you wanted me to ask you out on the air? After that fucking verbal smackdown you threw at me? You’re telling me you would’ve been okay with that? Because, tell me if I’m wrong, but somehow I feel like some convincing had to be done behind the scenes before you’d even talk to me.”

Cas smiles at him. “You wanted stories for your children, right?”

“Touche.” Dean holds out his hand and Cas takes it, letting their fingers entwine together. He watches as Dean brings both their hands up and turns them around slowly, as if he’s observing them on a pedestal. “So you’re sure you’re good with this? Because I’m not shovin’ you into anything you don’t want, Cas, I’ll tell you that right now.”

“People will find out eventually,” Cas says, running his thumb across Dean’s knuckles. “Do you have room for me in the limelight?”

Dean scoffs. “I could do some rearranging.”

“Then yes,” Cas says decidedly, lifting their hands and pressing a kiss to Dean’s. “And I’d rather we have control of the way it comes out.”

“You have something in mind?”

Cas pauses, and, much to his surprise, realizes that he actually does.

* * *

 

The walk to the Ansin Building is just as long as it always is, but to Cas, it feels like it’s going by much faster with Dean by his side. His head is swimming as they walk, wondering if what they’re about to do is the audio equivalent of getting your lover’s name tattooed on your chest. He knows they’ve got to do it sometime, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s too soon, too brash, too final.

Dean doesn’t seem to be sharing any of his worries, though; every time Cas looks over at him, he’s looking up at the buildings around them like an awestruck tourist, the sun glinting off his sunglasses as he turns his head.

“Have you never been here?” Cas asks, nudging him as they approach Ansin and start to hear the faint notes of the college radio station getting closer.

“Just picturing little baby Cas as a freshman,” Dean says with a grin. “You’re tellin’ me you didn’t gawk at these things when you first moved in?”

“They lost their luster after a while. Besides, we’ve got more important things to worry about,” Cas says, picking up his pace and hoping Dean would follow his lead. “I told everyone we’d be there five minutes ago, and—”

Dean grabs the sleeve of Cas’ jacket and pulls him back gently. “And you’re the co-host, they’re not gonna start the show without you.” He gives Cas a gentle smile, adding, “People put less thought into gender reveal parties. You gotta relax.”

“Gender is just a social construct,” Cas says distractedly. “It’s silly to celebrate something the parents won’t know until their child does. They should be called sex reveal parties.”

Dean chuckles, and before Cas can really process it, he feels his boyfriend’s lips brush against his cheek in a quick kiss. Normally, he’d be thrilled at Dean’s small show of affection, but they’d agreed to continue keeping the PDA and flirtations in public to a minimum for the next few days—or at least the rest of the afternoon—so he claps a hand to his face, startled, with Dean looking like he’d just gotten caught fulfilling a particularly bold dare on the playground.

“What was that?” he hisses.

Dean shrugs. “You were being cute. I like to let my boyfriend know when he’s being cute.”

Cas flushes, still trying to hide the way he beams at Dean calling him his boyfriend, but protests, “I thought we agreed—”

“We made the rules, so we can change ‘em. Besides—” Dean stops in front of Ansin, pulls open the heavy Victorian door, and holds it open for Cas, “—we’re here, so quit worrying.” He winks as Cas walks past him into the building.

Hannah’s face brightens the second they walk into the studio downstairs, something Cas finds especially impressive considering the fact that she had already looked pretty happy to begin with. “Oh, my god,” she says, hopping out of her seat and pulling them both into a surprisingly tight hug. “I’m so _excited_ , this is so _exciting_! Billie and Charlie are already in the studio; are you ready?”

Cas startles a little when he feels Dean take his hand, but he squeezes it and gives him a small smile when Dean squeezes back. “Ready.”

“Welcome to a special minisode of _Rose-Colored Glasses_ ,” Billie says once the intro music has faded out. She’s leaning back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest with a knowing grin on her face. “We come bearing not only our first visual episode—”

“Which is _not_ turning into a normal thing, y’all, don’t get used to it,” Charlie interrupts warningly.

Billie wrinkles her nose as Charlie’s cheeks get a shade closer to her hair. “Hey, there’s a reason I like to work behind the camera.”

Billie shrugs. “Camera loves you. Suit yourself.”

“ _Any_ way,” Hannah says, grabbing her microphone and pulling it closer, “Billie’s right, it’s not just our first visual episode, but we’ve also got our first repeat guest!” She gives them an overly peppy little cheer and Billie rolls her eyes with a smirk. “Now, anyone who heard our interview with _Bachelorette_ runner-up Dean Winchester a few months back knows that he and our Cas didn’t exactly have the best start.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Dean mutters, barely audible next to Cas’ ear. Cas bites the inside of his cheek to conceal a smirk and knocks his knee against Dean’s under the table.

“But Chuck Shurley isn’t the only dream weaver in Hollywood…” Billie continues. She, Hannah, and Charlie look at the two of them expectantly, and Cas’ heart swells as he feels Dean lift their entwined hands up into the air like they’d won some kind of contest.

“Surprise,” Cas says meekly.

“They’re dating!” Charlie bursts out suddenly, covering her mouth and nose with her hands in a half-assed attempt to hide her smile. “God, it feels good to say that out loud. You know how long we’ve had that fucking bombshell waiting in the wings? Feels like years, guys. 84 years, _minimum_.”

Hannah grabs a copy of _People_ from under the table and holds it up next to Cas’ face; Dean snorts when Cas cranes his neck back and away from it. “Cas is Dean’s mystery man from the _People_ cover,” she says. “And it all started right after Cas made it clear that he couldn’t stand Dean’s guts.”

With that, Hannah gestures for Dean to fill in the blanks, and he does. What he’d been thinking, if he thought he had a shot, when he first realized Cas might like him back. Cas contributes answers of his own, and the more they talk, the lighter Cas feels. He goes quiet for longer periods of time in favor of watching Dean laugh, the way his eyes sparkle when he recounts Cas accidentally liking his Instagram post, how he’s all too willing to throw him under the bus for not having been to Bova’s before.

The episode is meant to be short, so they start to wrap up at about fifteen minutes, but Cas already knows that it’ll go down as his favorite.

“We’ll see y’all next week for the season finale of _Paradise_ ,” Billie says. “Tweet us your engagement picks and who’s gonna crash and burn. We don’t have any swag to send you, but you’ll get bragging rights, and that’s just as good.”

“I—well, we, would like to thank Dean for coming on the show again,” Cas says, smiling at Dean, “and for humoring us.”

Dean winks at the camera. “Pleasure’s mine.”

“Gentlemen,” Charlie says, drumming her palms on the table and grinning widely at them as she does her best impression of Chuck Shurley’s iconic last words to eliminated contestants, “take a moment, say your goodbyes.”

Dean makes to press his hands to Cas’ cheeks, but at the last second, he grabs Cas’ headphones and slides them down so they’re hanging around his neck. With one hand on each of the oversized earpieces, he tugs Cas toward him and leans in.

Eyes closed, Cas rests his hands on Dean’s thighs, reveling in the way their lips feel pressed together, and he momentarily forgets that they’re in the studio in front of his friends, being recorded, soon to be in front of thousands of listeners, as well.

Hannah and Billie are talking around them, he knows that, but he doesn’t care, because Dean’s in front of him and it finally doesn’t matter who sees, or when. The thing that finally jerks him back into reality is when Charlie plays a tiny bit of the _Jeopardy_ theme song on her phone; Cas’ eyes shoot open and he stares at her.

“Relax, dude,” she says, grinning. “Just givin’ you shit. It’s sweet.”

Cas tries to laugh along with the rest of them, but even he can tell it comes out forced and uncomfortable. “Can we, uh, can we cut that down a little?” Dean’s fingers lace through Cas’ and he squeezes his hand. Cas looks down at their entwined fingers, a small smile playing on his lips as he brushes his thumb across Dean’s knuckles. “I’m sure people don’t want to see us—”

“One, they absolutely fucking _do_ ,” Billie interrupts, and Hannah nods vigorously. “But two,” she continues, waving his concerns off, “we’ll fade to black, just for you, Novak.”

Dean grins widely, that same goddamn shit-eating grin that Cas hated but now can’t picture his life without, and pulls Cas in for another kiss.

“Works for me.”


	13. Chapter 13

It’s raining outside.

Cas could’ve slept through the rain, but it’s the loud clap of thunder that jerks him awake. He must’ve fallen asleep—the last thing he remembers is watching TV with Dean, his boyfriend carding his fingers lazily through his hair. Dean is still there next to him, undisturbed by the storm outside, and Cas tangles their feet together under the sheets and blankets, smiling as Dean unconsciously snuggles in a little closer next to him.

He should just go back to bed, especially when there’s a sleepy and adorable boyfriend waiting for him, but habit has Cas checking his phone to see what time it is, and how much longer he has to sleep until his alarm goes off later on.

What catches his eye instead of the time, though, is a notification from Instagram.

**@dwinchester67 tagged you in a photo.**

Cas glances over his shoulder at Dean and unlocks his phone. The notification is a few hours old, probably back when he fell asleep, and Cas wonders what stupid meme Dean tagged him in this time. He’s surprised, though, when he opens his app and a photo of the two of them pops up on Dean’s account.

It’s a picture of them kissing back in the studio, Dean leaning right up close and resting his hands over Cas’ headphones. Cas’ tongue runs over his lips as he thinks back to Dean’s pressed against his own, and he can’t help but grin at the idea of Hannah—it _had_ to be Hannah—silently melting with delight as she snapped the photo.

It’s been up for a few hours and has racked up thousands of likes and comments, but the caption is what catches and holds Cas’ attention. It’s short, punctuated at the end by a single rose emoji. He double taps the photo—on purpose this time—and presses a kiss to Dean’s temple before he’s even finished reading it.

_Found him._


End file.
